


These Days

by HopeForTheWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Hypersexuality, Large Cock, M/M, Painful Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Size Difference, Size Kink, Teacher-Student, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeForTheWitch/pseuds/HopeForTheWitch
Summary: Tom and Harry grow up together and Harry can’t imagine a universe where they’re not in each other’s pocket all the damn time. Her mum calls it unhealthy, their codependency, but Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. What one wants, the other wants too, and it so happens that they've set their eyes on Sirius, Harry's loving uncle and their helpless Muggle Studies professor.Good thing Tom and Harry are there to help out.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Sirius Black/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Sirius Black/Tom Riddle
Comments: 27
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nova for checking it over for me, though google was having some issues so if there's weird things going on with extra words or letters, that'd be me.
> 
> This is my first foray into smut, and I'm... surprisingly okay with how things turned out. Not entirely happy, but _okay_ with things.

####  **Prologue**

_ 1997 _

The summer passes in a blur of half-forgotten memories and grief. More than once she finds her mother crying silently in her parents’ bedroom, and once she finds her father drunk in the kitchen, a hole in the wall, his knuckles blue, dried tracks on his cheeks.

“Sirius,” Harry whispers at the mirror, but the mirror doesn’t answer.

She sees him everywhere, men wearing his face from a distance, wearing his clothes and his expressions, carrying his laughter with them. She sees him in the crowds at Diagon Alley, a man wearing a similar coat, in the streets of Cokeworth, a man with his hair, at King’s Cross, a man with his height. But then someone will say something or touch her arm and when she looks back, he’s gone.

“I’m not going to apologise, sweetheart, you know that, right?” her mother asks her one night, a sort of desperate look on her face that makes Harry’s skin crawl with unease. Her lower lip trembles with held back emotions. “We did what we had to do to protect you. You’ll understand when you’re older.” She sobs. “Sweetheart, I promise, we did it all for you. Maybe right now it doesn’t feel like—”

“You don’t know anything about what I feel!” Harry snaps, and she runs up the stairs.

* * *

####  **One**

_ 2016 _

_ You ask what we remember and the easiest answer to that is: not much beyond the three of us. That’s not quite true, of course. If you ask me, that would be the answer, but Tom’s memory is truly a wonder, isn’t it? He recalls everything much better than I do. Then again, his story differs from mine, do  _ you  _ remember that? We played very different games from the start. _

_ * _

They first meet when they’re four, but they don’t remember that, and it doesn’t matter to them anyway; to them they may as well have met when they were born, or at least when the Lovegoods took in one Tom Riddle, orphan extraordinaire, four years old.

By the time they’re nine they have decided that they’ll stay together, just the two of them for the rest of their lives. “We need rings,” little Harry tells her Uncle Sirius.

Uncle Sirius is smiling at the two children. “What for?”

“We need to get married,” Tom says, as if that’s obvious.

“I see.”

Uncle Sirius takes them to a real jeweller in Diagon Alley, where they look at sparkly gold rings. Harry almost picks a silver one but Uncle Sirius says wedding rings are gold, and so she keeps looking until she finds one she likes. Then they get a chain each to put the ring on because well-made rings don’t do well with self-adjusting spells, and so they have to wait until they’re older to wear them.

“Don’t you want to get married first?” the jeweller asks.

“No,” Tom says, and Harry says, “We already know we’ll be together forever.”

The jeweller cups her cheeks. “Oh, they’re  _ adorable _ .”

They get a 25% discount.

Her mum sighs when she learns about the rings, calls it a waste of money because why couldn’t he have gotten them something simple like a plastic toy ring?  _ It’s just a phase _ , she says, though she ruffles Harry’s wild hair with a smile and kisses the crown of her head.

Her dad thinks it’s hilarious and high-fives Uncle Sirius.

* 

They go to Hogwarts together, both of them sorted into Slytherin. Tom quickly manages to befriend—he scoffs when Harry brings it up—their yearmates but Harry stays in the background, straddling the edge of his group of friends.

She has only two friends, four if she counts Tom and Luna which she doesn’t. She met Ron and Hermione on the train but they’re both Gryfifndors, so she barely sees them. On the other hand, when she sees them, things are really good between them. It’s just that they don’t like each other, so it’s hard to be friends with them at the same time, yet she tries.

*

Ron says they’re like twins separated at birth, at least until he catches them kissing underneath the big apple tree in the Lovegood’s orchard when they’re twelve.

Luna comes to Hogwarts that year, and she lands in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin like Tom and Harry had hoped so they could keep an eye on her, but she seems happy enough, if a little lonely, there.

*

When they’re thirteen, they choose Muggle Studies against everyone’s better judgment, because Uncle Sirius teaches this, and everyone knows Uncle Sirius is their favourite. Her mum is especially exasperated, because Tom and Harry know perfectly well how to navigate the Muggle world.

It turns out that while Uncle Sirius makes for a great teacher, he knows little about the Muggle world and the book they’re learning from is even  _ worse _ . How anyone graduates this course is anyone’s guess and nothing but a miracle.

Tom and Harry share a look during their first class. They wait for class to end and everyone to file out before approaching his desk. It’s lunchtime anyway so they’re not in a hurry for their next class. 

“Uncle Sirius,” they chorus, because even though they’ve dropped the ‘uncle’ part in private, everyone considers him their uncle and they know he still appreciates hearing it. The few times they dropped ‘uncle’ with him, he got  _ sad _ .

Uncle Sirius sighs, clearly resigned. “ _ What _ .”

“We’ve been in the Muggle world many times,” Harry begins.

“And we couldn’t help but notice that the books are...” Tom hums to himself, no doubt searching for a word that won’t insult their favourite teacher.

“Off,” Harry supplies helpfully.

“Yes, off.”

“Off,” Uncle Sirius repeats. “And what about it is off?”

“Everything,” Tom mutters, and Harry sharply elbows him. “Just some… minor things.”

“Itty bitty things,” Harry nods.

“Like pens, you don’t dip those in ink. They already have ink, that’s the whole  _ point  _ of them.”

“Tom,” Harry says quietly.

“Not that it’s your fault,” Tom adds.

“Exactly.”

Uncle Sirius seems amused. “It’s all the book’s fault, is it?”

“Yes,” Harry says vehemently.

*

“Why did we pick this class?” Tom whispers at the beginning of their fourth year.

Then Sirius folds his arms in front of his chest, leaning back against his desk with his ankles crossed as they listen to someone answer whatever question neither of them heard in the back of the classroom.

“Oh, that,” Tom says faintly.

“Kill me,” Harry agrees.

“Quiet in the back, please,” Sirius calls. “Or do I need to separate you two?”

“No, Professor Black,” they say in unison and they give him twin smiles.

*

Sirius is a bit of a problem, Harry thinks when she’s on her own in her dorms, burrowing in her duvet and staring at the curtains of her bed. She’s supposed to be with Tom forever, but recently she’s had  _ thoughts  _ about Sirius. Tom knows she’s attracted to Sirius, because of course she told him, but he doesn’t know how far those feelings go. 

It feels like she’s cheating on him and he deserves better than that.

Now that they’re older she’s taken to wearing his ring around her middle finger, intent on taking it to the jeweller to get fitted properly around her ring finger this summer. Tom’s ring already fits around his ring finger, so he doesn’t have to. It’s a constant reminder that she has a future with him, and she loves it.

Harry can’t imagine a universe where they’re not in each other’s pocket all the damn time. Her mum calls it unhealthy, their codependency, but Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. She won’t let them sleep in the same bed, as if that’s going to stop them. Mr. and Mrs. Lovegood are equally tired of them, Mrs. Lovegood more so than Mr. Lovegood, the latter who usually leaves them alone if he finds them under his apple tree.

*

As they’ve done for the past ten years, Tom and Harry get to stay with Sirius between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Luna usually joins them too but she begs off this time, wanting to hang out with Ginny.

Sirius proves once more why he’s their favourite when he secretly lets them share Regulus’ old room, because he figures he can’t stop them anyway. They’re fourteen now, he says, he remembers being fourteen. 

They thank him by forgetting to use silencing charms all week, which they only realise on the morning of the last day, when Sirius loudly knocks on the door and tells them, “Parents in five, so you’d best hurry that up.”

Tom groans against her shoulder as he comes, Harry squeezing him  _ hard _ .

“I hope they behaved,” her mum says ten minutes later.

“They behaved exactly as all teenagers do.” Sirius scratches his head. “I definitely feel like I got to know them better, especially Harry,” he adds casually.

Tom smirks. “Yes, she was very vocal about wishing to bond.”

Sirius chokes on his tea with laughter.

Harry just wants the ground to swallow her up because they've been at it like a pair of bunnies this past week, and Sirius  _ knows _ . No wonder he was both annoyed and amused at them all week long.

Her mum looks confused but happy enough. “Well, I’m glad you had fun.”

*

Returning to Hogwarts after being able to spend all day together is jarring, but Harry gets used to it soon enough. Throughout the next two years they visit Sirius in his office every other Friday evening, to help him with his curriculum by writing a new syllabus at a snail’s pace because they get distracted by other topics a lot.

Well, Tom and Sirius do the writing. 

Harry just leans against Tom’s shins, seated in front of them while she does her homework or reads. Sometimes she sits in with Sirius instead, leaning back against his legs. Tom and Sirius are experts at ignoring her when she sits like that, which suits her just fine.

Sometimes she doesn’t feel like anything at all so she straddles Tom’s hips, her face in his neck and her eyes closed, lightly dozing, while they talk softly. Tom always wakes her with a lingering kiss and his hand under her T-shirt, stroking her back. 

But the more often Sirius says nothing of it, the bolder Tom gets, until one memorable evening he forgets himself and actually undoes the first few buttons of her blouse. Sirius coughs meaningfully and excuses himself, and Tom shamelessly fucks her over his desk.

*

_ 1996 _

In the summer between her fifth and sixth year, for the first time since they’ve known each other, their families go on separate vacations that summer. Harry feels out of sorts the three weeks they’re away because it’s the longest she’s been without Tom since they started Hogwarts, which just proves her mum right.

The first night she feels like she’s going to crawl out of her skin, because the idea of not seeing him for so long scares her. “Mum,” she yells, getting up from bed, “mum!” She frantically runs to her parents’ bedroom and then stands helplessly in the door opening before bursting into tears. “Mum,  _ help  _ me.”

“Oh, baby,” her mum sighs, and she holds up the duvet. “Come here.”

Harry crawls into their bed, buries her face into her mum’s neck.

“I told you this isn’t healthy,” she says softly. She gathers Harry close, cupping her cheek. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she whispers, and she sounds close to tears herself.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry sobs and she curls closer.

“You’ll see him in three weeks, it’ll be over before you know it,” her dad says, stroking her hair. “Maybe we should’ve given them those two-way mirrors after all,” he says to his wife.

“Hindsight, love,” her mum says. “Harry, you wanna sleep with mum tonight?”

Harry nods shakily.

*

It gets marginally better. They don’t allow her to owl Tom, claiming it’s better for her to get through the three weeks on her own, but all it does is make her clingy for attention. Tom always gives her his attention, all of it, freely, without her needing to ask for it. He doesn’t mind that she’s clingy, because he in turn is possessive; they’re a perfect fit.

They used to get jealous, before Hogwarts mainly, but they’re sixteen now and they’ve never been more secure in their relationship, a hundred percent sure they’re each other’s future.

Sirius and Remus, who came with, provide excellent distraction. She finishes all of her summer homework in record time with Remus helping her, and the five of them watch a film every night, curled up on one of the  _ gigantic  _ beds. They never sleep in it, especially considering they freely eat take-out in it, but the TV in the room they’ve picked is the largest in the villa and the sofas are too uncomfortable.

As fate would have it, Harry finds herself sandwiched between a wall and Sirius nightly.

At first Sirius lets Harry play with his rings and the bracelet she made him when she was six that he still wears, but one night during the second week they end up holding hands instead. When she dares to glance up, he has a small smile on his face, as if he isn’t currently playing the hand-equivalent of footsie with her just centimetres away from her parents.

At least he’s kind enough to pretend he doesn’t feel her hectic heartbeat.

*

Harry doesn’t realise how tense she’d been until she sees Tom waiting under their apple tree. It’s like a weight falls off her shoulders, and she starts crying all over again, holding onto him and refusing to let go. He chuckles into the frantic kiss, pulling her down into the grass with him, her hands already unzipping his trousers.

Harry pushes Tom until he’s on his back, not breaking their kiss, and his fingers go underneath her skirt, but they find nothing except hot skin. He gasps as she sinks down on him, wet heat engulfing him, as tight as ever. 

Harry leans back, wiggling a little as she adjusts to his width, and then she rides him desperately. He’s only slightly longer than average but he’s definitely thick, so it’s too deep and too hard, but she gets off on the fact that she’s so small compared to him and that no matter how often they fuck his cock still hurts her.

Tom pushes her T-shirt up to her collarbone, exposing her chest. “I’m not gonna last, you’re even tighter than normal,” he groans, cupping her breasts the way they both like, which is hard enough that it almost crosses the line into painful territory.

“It’s been three weeks, what did you expect,” she pants, leaning forward for a kiss, “it’s not like I have toys.”

Apparently that thought does something to him, because Tom pulls her close with a bitten back moan and twitches inside her. He pushes her hips down and then he’s in so deep that it hurts enough that she flinches, tearing up and gasping at the pain. 

“It’s okay, you can take it,” he grunts.

“Tom,” Harry begs, but he doesn’t let up, so much stronger than her. His erection slowly goes down until it doesn’t hurt anymore, and she sags in his arms with a single sob, shaking violently. He kisses her tears away. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Acting like I don’t know what you like,” Tom says.

“But that really hurt, though.”

“Was it too much?”

Harry frowns, thinking it over. “At the time, yes? But then it was over, and the idea was really hot?”

“So do you want me to do that again? You’re starting to leak, Harry.” He turns them around so that she’s on her back, his cock still hard enough that he doesn’t slip out yet.

“Which part?”

“I held you down even though it hurt and you told me to stop.”

Harry shrugs. “I told you I wanted to try that.” Usually he lets go when she asks, but she tries not to ask.

“I know we talked about it, but we never tried it before. Do you want me to do that again?” He smiles prettily and her heart skips a beat despite herself. “I’d like it known that I like making you cry that way,” he says, as if that’s something she wasn’t aware of before. “You’re very pretty when you’re in pain.”

“You mean to tell me you think it’s hot when someone hurts me?”

Tom’s face changes instantly. “ _ No _ , absolutely not happening.”

Harry grins. “I knew it. Only you.”

“Only me,” he agrees.

*

The next evening they pack for three weeks at Grimmauld Place, as a sort of mini-vacation and a bit of an apology from their guardians. Her parents know now that Sirius lets them share a room, and while they don’t seem entirely on board, they let her go regardless, figuring Sirius will keep them in line.

Harry’s still curious about Tom’s reaction to the mention of toys, and she wonders whether she should bring it up or not. Some of her yearmates have a catalogue, though they mostly use it to giggle at whatever is in it, since most of them have never even kissed someone, let alone had sex. 

Harry has never had an interest in the catalogue because she has no need for it, she has Tom; they don’t let something like school and rules stop them from having sex twice a day if she can help it.

“Tom?” she asks that first night.

“Hmm?” He looks up from his book, eyebrow raised.

“Toys?”

“What?”

“Toys,” Harry repeats. “Do you want them?”

“We don’t need them,” Tom says.

“Yeah but do you  _ want  _ them?”

Tom goes silent.

“We can get one of those catalogues and go through it together.” Though Harry has no clue how to go about getting one of them.

“If that’s what you want,” Tom says mildly and he goes back to his book.

Harry smiles to herself.

*

Tom usually gets up before her, so when she comes downstairs dressed only in one of Sirius’ band-shirts that she stole from his wardrobe years ago, she finds the two of them blinking owlishly at her over their breakfast.

“I forgot you had that shirt,” Sirius says finally.

Tom snorts. “Want it back?” He sits back in his chair and Harry is happy enough to sit on his lap. He gives her a languid kiss as a greeting.

“You know, seeing you at Hogwarts, I’d never have guessed you two are attached at the hip as much as you really are,” Sirius comments. “You sit close to each other but you don’t do these  _ things  _ you two do in private.”

It’s true enough, Tom is comparatively detached at Hogwarts. There’s no mistaking that they’re close, but she doubts anyone could correctly guess what’s going on. Sometimes she wishes he’d show her off, especially everyone’s asking for his attention, but then she remembers that it’s none of their business.

“But we can be ourselves with you, so you see us in private,” Harry says.

“Boy,  _ do  _ I,” Sirius mutters.

“What was that?” Harry asks sweetly.

“I said that shirt looks good on you.”

Tom and Harry share a meaningful look.

*

Sirius takes them out shopping for school supplies that afternoon. When they’re done with those, he gets them ice cream. They sit down in the far corner of the ice cream parlour, where nobody can hear them, which is good, because—

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” Sirius says lightly when Tom’s gone to the loo.

Harry blinks. “Anything?”

“Mhmm, yes.” Sirius smirks. “The walls are very thin, I can hear you two  _ talk _ ,” he says dryly.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, because she hadn’t known it was that bad.

“At least you’re having a lot of fun?”

“Oh my god, Uncle Sirius,” Harry squeals.

*

So of course she waits until they’re getting ready for bed to mention that Sirius can hear everything. Tom is unconcerned. “I’m sure he uses silencing spells for the things he really doesn’t want to hear,” he says. “I don’t see why we need to change anything. Is that his?” He nods at the catalogue on his nightstand.

“I think so, he said we could talk to him about anything at all.” She gives him a bit of a timid smile, because she’s still unsure about toys. “Do you want to go through it together?”

“Why don’t you go through it first and then we go over the ones you like?”

“That’s such a cop-out, Tom,” Harry complains. “Only if you go through it by yourself as well. We can compare the ones we like, then.”

Tom chuckles. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”

“I do want,” Harry nods eagerly. She takes her earrings out and puts them on the vanity. “But I don’t really know what you’re expecting. I don’t really need anything, I have you.”

He’s already on the bed and under the covers. “I’d rather not talk about this,” he says, and he does look distinctively uncomfortable.

“If you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t do it,” Harry says wisely.

“That’s such bullshit.”

Harry grins. “Do you want to go back to wanking?” She bats her eyelashes at him. “Am I not your toy anymore?”

“Please stop. Actually, I’d like to remind you that you were the one who offered.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Harry says seriously, “I still don’t like the idea of you jerking off when you have me around. I’d rather you use me.”

“I still don’t understand what you get out of that, but alright.”

“The same as I always get. I like having you inside me.” She glances at the wall, suddenly conscious of the fact that Sirius might hear them. “Besides, if it were up to you, we’d have sex once a week. That’s fucking torture,” she whispers harshly.

“You just have a higher sex drive than me,” is all Tom is willing to say to that. “I don’t crave it the way you do. I only masturbate because if I don’t, my body will drive me up the wall. That doesn’t mean I need or want to do it  _ that  _ often.”

Harry sits up. “We don’t have to do—”

“I didn’t say that,” Tom says quickly. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You  _ literally  _ just said you don’t want it that often.”

“Listen to me, Harry,” Tom says, a little impatiently. “It’s like you said, I use you to get off because that’s something you like. To me it doesn’t feel like something we do together. Most of the time you’re not a participant, you’re just there to provide a hole for me to use.”

Harry cocks her head and thinks that over. “I feel like I should be offended by that.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Again, you wanted it this way.”

She gets up from her chair and approaches the bed. “So, what, according to your standards we only have sex once a week or something?”

“At Hogwarts? More than that, just not twice a day,” he points out. “I  _ get off _ twice a day. It’s different outside of school, because we’re not in a hurry.”

“You’re—oddly romantic sometimes.”

“That’s not what romance is, Potter,” Tom says fondly. “That’s called a trade.”

*

The catalogue just confuses Harry. There are too many options, and the ones that sound interesting are also incredibly expensive. She doesn’t know what she wants. Isn’t Tom enough? They end up not ordering anything from it, though Tom shows some interest in a few of them but he refuses to share which ones.

“We can get one of them for your birthday,” Harry offers.

Tom looks skeptical. “You don’t even know which ones I like.”

“I trust you,” Harry says.

*

Harry bounces around the house wearing nothing but shorts or a skirt and stolen T-shirts that still smell like Sirius. He hasn’t said anything about it, so she figures he doesn’t mind. Smelling Sirius’ cologne on her riles Tom up as an added bonus.

More than once he fucks her from behind in one of the T-shirts, eyes closed and his nose pressed against the collar and Sirius’ name a whisper between them. He’s gentler about it, just an endless grind, because hearing her cry out when he fucks her hard and fast takes him out of it, which made Harry giggle when he guiltily confessed.

Sirius is… Sirius, really. 

He never says a single word about what the duo talks about at night, and if it weren’t for the knowing glint in his eye, Harry would have been convinced he didn’t know anything at all. But the glint is there, some days worse than others.

There’s something going on between Tom and Sirius but she leaves them to it, not about to get involved in whatever game they’re playing, at least not actively, because they involve her anyway. She only notices because Tom gets bolder with the day, hand disappearing under her skirt or her T-shirt where Sirius can see, looking at him intently while he does so.

Tom doesn’t bother to hide what his hands are doing, often hiking up her skirt so far that her panties show, his hand between her legs. While she’s embarrassed about it, the feel of Sirius’ eyes on her also turns her on enough that she’s content to follow along with whatever Tom is doing.

Teasing,  _ that  _ is what he’s doing, she realises one afternoon when he turns her around to face Sirius and pulls her shirt up far enough that the underside of her breasts are visible, Tom’s grin pressed into her neck.

Tom is putting her on display as if to say,  _ this could be yours _ , daring him.

And at this point Sirius doesn’t say anything at all anymore, doesn’t bother excusing himself anymore, sprawls out on the sofa or in his chair or leaning against the door jamb. He appears content to just watch them both with a dark eyes, as if he’s waiting them out, waiting to see how far they’ll go in front of him, or rather, how far Tom is willing to go.

While Harry’s still unsure and insecure, Tom seems to be a hundred percent on board. Harry, on the other hand, is scared of rejection. Tom says that’s stupid, because Sirius has yet to reject anything they’ve done so far, up to and including fucking in his bed and leaving him a wet spot to deal with.

But things never escalate further than Tom’s hands under her clothing, and so she worried for nothing.

*

_ 2016 _

_ I vaguely remember the summer I turned sixteen. We were awful, weren’t we? Sometimes I ask myself whether we would have continued our scheme had we known how it would end. Funny how much influence a single year can have on the rest of your life, how much knowing one person can change you. You don’t believe us, but it’s true. _

*

_ 1996 _

“Hurry up!” Luna yells from where she’s standing near the fence of the orchard. “Mum is on her way and she’s mad!”

“Fuck,” Tom hisses as he tries to fit himself back inside his trousers.

Harry leans back and wipes her mouth with a giggle. She hands him her coat to hide behind, grabs her backpack and they stand up just in time for Mrs. Lovegood to come out from between two trees.

“There you two are!” she says snippily, her blonde hair looking as wild as the expression on her face. “We’re almost late, now come on. Luna, come! We’ll just Apparate from here.”

Luna skips over, beaming at Tom, who gives her the evil eye. Luna shoves him with a grin. “It’s not my fault you have awful timing,” she whispers.

“I have impeccable timing,” Tom sniffs.

Harry chortles. “You do  _ not _ .”

“Quiet, all of you. I’ll bring Harry first, you two behave.”

Harry waves at the foster siblings and then the orchard disappears and they’re standing in one of the Apparition circles at King’s Cross. “Lily, Harry’s here!” she hears her father yell across the platform, and she wants to hide because people turn around and  _ look _ , which according to Mrs. Lovegood’s face is a good enough punishment for running late.

She hurried steps outside of the circle and Mrs. Lovegood disappears with a pop right as her parents step into the Apparition Zone. Harry joins them, and her mother immediately starts redoing her tie. “Mum,” she complains, trying to get away, but Lily is having none of it.

“Hold still, sweetheart.”

Sirius and James are grinning at her misfortune and she sticks her tongue out at them both. A group of teenagers pass them, giggling at ‘Professor Black’ in a way that has Lily roll her eyes in disgust. Sirius gives them one of his patented beautiful smiles and Harry carefully doesn’t sneer at them. She’s still kind of impressed with Dumbledore for keeping Sirius on, though his curriculum has definitely improved since Tom and Harry started helping him.

After saying goodbye to their parents, or guardians in Tom’s case, the three students make their way onto the train, finding a compartment together. Luna, as she does every year, looks a little lost, so Harry just rolls her eyes and pulls her along with them. 

She, like Harry, doesn’t have many friends, and there are some nasty whispers going around about them both. Luna may be a little weird, but don’t you dare suggest that in his face; Tom is viciously possessive, because nobody but him gets to hurt what is his. 

She’s knitting them socks now, red with silver dots for Harry and green with gold hearts for Tom. They shouldn’t really be surprised, because they’d gotten her that yarn for her birthday this year, they’d just expected she’d do the obvious with it… like knit something red and gold for her Gryffindor friend Ginny, and green and silver for Tom and Harry, but no.

Tom is sat propped up in the corner with a book, while Harry is on the floor trying to lay out a game of solitaire. She hears the Weasleys before she sees them, and she remembers that this is the first year the twins won’t be at school.

Luna’s already up and hanging out of the window, waving at Ginny. Harry joins her when she notices Ginny’s new haircut, and she starts giggling. “How badly were you grounded for that?” she calls out.

Mrs. Weasley hears her and turns around. “Until she’s eighteen, Harry.”

“Well done,” she says, at a lower volume now that Ginny’s standing near their open window. She whistles as Ginny twirls around to show the full effect of her new sidecut.

“Let me climb through,” Ginny says.

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs, standing to the side while Ginny takes a short sprint, jumps up and climbs through the window. 

“GINNY WEASLEY!” Mrs. Weasley yells.

“Quick, close the window,” Ginny hisses. 

They slam the window closed just as Mrs. Weasley stands in front of it, and they collectively sigh when they realise they can’t hear her through the glass. 

“At least I didn’t colour it, she would’ve  _ murdered  _ me,” Ginny mumbles.

“My mum would never let me out of the house again,” Harry agrees.

“Harry,  _ your mum _ has almost the same haircut,” Ginny patiently says. “That’s where I got it from, ‘cause it looks so cool on her, only her hair’s a little darker than mine.”

Harry chortles. “Please don’t tell your mum that, she’ll kill mine, and mine’s cool enough.”

Ginny shrugs. “Course not, besides, adults are hypocrites. They never let us do the same things, not even things they used to do when they were young.” She sits down next to Luna, kisses her cheek and then grins at her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Luna says with a small smile. “You look nice today, Gin.”

_ * _

They’re soon joined by a Hufflepuff boy called Neville and Harry’s Gryffindor friends Ron and Hermione, who have come a long way since first year where they couldn’t stand each other. Then Draco stands in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the group inside the compartment and nose wrinkling. “Tom,” he greets, “Harry.” He ignores the others.

“Draco,” Harry says lightly. “Would you like to join us?”

As expected, he pauses, then shakes his head. “No, but thank you,” he says politely, as though he had genuinely considered the offer. “Tom, would you care to join your housemates?” The question is rather pointed.

“In a minute, I’m with family now,” Tom says, sounding bored.

Draco’s eye twitches, but he nods. “We’ll be near the end of the train.” 

He leaves as fast as he appeared, which is just as well. Harry’s on what she calls  _ polite  _ terms with him, which doesn’t necessarily equate  _ friendly  _ terms, unlike Tom, who is considered a friend by many of their housemates. Bullshit, Harry thinks, but she’ll never correct them if that’s what Tom wants them to think for whatever reason.

The train leaves, and Harry spends most of her time chatting with her friends, Tom quietly reading in his corner, and Luna, Ginny and Neville bent over the newest edition of the Quibbler, all three with the weird glasses on.

Eventually Tom closes his book and gets up. “Prefect rounds first?” he asks Ron and Hermione, the former who looks pained and the latter who nods. “Alright.” He gives Harry a quick kiss, then he’s gone, but her friends linger.

“Wait, library tomorrow after dinner?” Harry asks before her friends can leave.

“I was going to take a walk,” Hermione says, “but yeah, we can do that too.”

“I don’t mind a walk. Ron?” 

“Either is fine,” he shrugs.

“Walk then, at seven?” Hermione suggests.

Seven it is, then. Harry takes Tom’s empty space and curls up with a travel pillow, intending to nap some more. She wakes up when the compartment door slams shut, and she sits up with a gasp, but she relaxes once more when she sees it’s only Tom. The room is completely empty of people, however. It’s just the two of them, and soon she realises why when he comes to stand near her, trousers drawn tight over his erection.

Harry doesn’t even bother to sit up properly, her legs still pulled up, and he straddles her hips, kneeling on the bench, his crotch so close she leans forward and presses her nose to the shape of with a playful grin. He gently bats her away and unzips, his cock bulging in his boxers. She puts her hands on his arse and brings him closer to her face, sucks at him through the fabric.

Tom takes his cock out with one hand, holding it at the base, already leaking, and his other hand comes down on her head. He brings the head of his cock to her lips, then forces his erection into her slack mouth, his other hand coming to rest on her head as well, simultaneously bringing her head closer with his hands and pushing in until her nose hits his pelvis. 

She swallows convulsively around his size, trying not to gag. He’s kind enough to pause as she gets her gag reflex under control, and then he loses patience and starts to thrust forward in a slow pace, and she lets him fuck her mouth the way he wants to. 

When Tom starts pushing in too far, Harry gags once more and tries to pull off, but he keeps her in place, and she feels him get harder in her mouth because  _ of course _ her struggles turn him on further. He only fucks her mouth harder, and then he’s pulsing in her mouth, pulling out enough that his come lands on her tongue instead of directly down her throat and she’s forced to swallow.

“All of it,” he pants, catching a drop of come and feeding it back to her.

She swallows it down, licks his hand clean the way he wants her to and then leans back with a cough. “All of it,” she mimics, and then she laughs at herself for her scratchy voice. She clears her throat again. “I take it the rounds went well?”

Tom snorts and sits in the V of her legs. “No, but it’s been dealt with.”

“Draco doesn’t want you with his group of sycophants?”

“I kicked Luna and her friends out, I’m not leaving you on your own.”

“I could go with.”

“You hate them and they dislike you, that’s not a good recipe.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m just saying.” Then she realises, “ _ You _ don’t want me there.”

“Because you don’t like who I am when I’m with them,” Tom says. He traces her jawline as he looks into her eyes. He smiles suddenly. “I prefer you like me.”

Harry rolls her eyes and pulls him in for a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

####  **Two**

_2016_

_I remember being so eager for your attention, for your eyes on me in class. I remember trying so hard to get your lessons to where you wanted it to be. We were sincere in that, though I barely remember sixth year itself, the classes, the people. We had very little to do with the reform of that year (or seventh for that matter, but that’s a different story altogether). Yes, thinking about it, I can recall very little beyond our little games. Is that bad? I don’t believe so._

_*_

_1996_

The funny part about Tom and Harry helping with Muggle Studies is that it goes from an easy owl to something that requires _studying_. Even though they’re correcting Sirius’ syllabi slowly but surely into something that will make wixenborn children able to navigate the Muggle world, the OWLs and NEWTs are still based on the old, incorrect information.

Which means they’re working out of two books. One is the correct syllabus which needs to be studied in order to pass Sirius’ class, which is one half of the grade. The other is the old syllabus which needs to be studied in order to pass the OWL or NEWT, which is the second half of the grade.

So far only third, fourth and fifth year are fixed, because Tom and Harry are definitely drawing things out in order to spend time with their favourite adult, and this year they’re going to work on sixth year, so only the current NEWT classes still have it easy.

Muggle Studies has sixteen NEWT students in sixth year, most of whom signed up for an easy NEWT with the exception of four. Hermione, who signed up because she’s interested, Ron who signed up because Hermione and Harry did, and then finally Tom and Harry, who signed up because they _really_ like Sirius, which was all things considered a tragic decision but one they made regardless of what people had to say about it.

“Harry, you have so many other subjects that need your focus!” her mum had despaired.

“Why aren’t you on Tom’s arse about this then? He has more classes than I do,” Harry had rebutted, crossing her arms defensively. “If anyone can’t take the extra workload it’s him.”

Lily slapped her backside with a kitchen towel, laughing. “I’m sure Tom will be able to handle himself just fine.” Though luckily that had been the end of the discussion about Harry’s choices in life, the ones that Lily knew about anyway.

With only one class per year, Sirius teaches Wednesday mornings, Thursday mornings, and then all of Friday. Sixth year Muggle Studies is the last class of the week, and the first one of the year is always utter chaos.

Tom and Harry are the only Slytherins, somewhat unsurprisingly. Some of them had sat with them during their OWL years, but they dropped the class for the NEWT level, even though their year still has it easy with the utterly wrong syllabus.

“Close the door, please,” Sirius calls from the front of the classroom. He has one of the best rooms available, on the fifth floor with an amazing overview of the Forbidden Forest.

Ron, nearest to the door, closes it, and it falls shut with a bang. Since it’s _Muggle_ Studies, they generally don’t have their wands out, and so they do most things manually, and that includes closing doors.

“I’m surprised to see so many of you are left,” Sirius says happily.

Harry feels a pang at that, because he’s a great teacher and he deserves more of an audience than just sixteen students. In all honesty, Harry believes Muggle Studies should be mandatory, but the idea isn’t a very popular one, even among those who have the class in their curriculum. Maybe once the class is no longer a joke, people will see how beneficial it is. Third, fourth and fifth year students go home with real knowledge of how the Muggle world works now.

“What do we want first, going over our holiday assignments or going over the syllabus for this year, seeing all the topics we’ll be covering?”

Hermione’s hand is high in the air, and Harry shares a fond look with Ron, before she turns back to Hermione. “Syllabus, please, Professor Black,” she says without waiting to be called upon, and half the class snorts but nobody says anything, used to it by now. She’s usually good at that, but in Muggle Studies she just lets her hair down.

“Alright, alright.” Sirius hands the person sitting at the first desk in each line four syllabi, and the ones in front dutifully turn around and hand three to the one behind them until everyone has one on their desk.

Harry stares at hers with a feeling of horror. On the cover is a gruesome picture of Jesus Christ hanging from a cross, the wounds and the blood graphic and detailed.

“Please turn to page five.”

There’s the sound of turning pages. 

“As some of you may have seen from the cover page, the first two semesters we’ll be dealing with Muggle religions. I’ve been told before that some religions should be covered more than others, but again, that’s out of my hands, I’m stuck with the curriculum that was decided by the Ministry, and my little helpers haven’t gotten around to sixth year yet, somehow.”

Harry hides a grin behind her book.

“To summarise, we’ll start with Judaism, then move on to Christianity and from there we’ll get to Islam.”

Padma, who is leafing through the syllabus, scoffs and slams it shut. “Professor, this is nice, but what about Hinduism?” She makes an aggressive motion toward the syllabus, her face set in disgust. “ _God_ , it doesn’t even mention Sikhism!”

Hermione nods, agreeing. “At least it has some Buddhism in it.”

Padma focuses her glare on Hermione. “That doesn’t make whatever _this_ shite is better.”

“Again, I’m bound by—quiet, please!” Sirius says loudly over the hushed talking that started, and quickly it dies down again. “Muggle Studies is in a weird area because it doesn’t require a mastery, which means the Ministry mandates what I teach.” 

He sits down on his desk, crossing his ankles. 

“All I can do is work together with you to create something that passes muster. Unlike the years below you guys, I don’t have the materials yet to test and grade for accurate information, which means my grade and the Ministry’s grade are both going to be based off of the materials you currently have in your possession. There is nothing I can do about that.”

Padma looks defeated. “But Professor, I read the book for this year and it’s _terrible_. I know about the new versions for the lower classes and I was hoping yours would be better, but if it’s still the old one, then…” She trails off.

“I understand, Padma. What we _can_ do is work together to create something new, so that next year’s class does have something accurate to work with. Consider it extra credit.”

Both Padma and Hermione perk up at that.

Harry’s torn between relief that they’ve found a solution and sadness that their time with Sirius is coming to an end, because religions are definitely not something Tom and Harry are great at. They can research it, but neither knows much about it.

Sirius catches her eye just then, and he smiles encouragingly. Then he stands up again and goes to sit behind his desk. “Let’s just continue on with our summer assignments. Who wants to go first?”

Ron actually raises his hand, though he looks uncomfortable. “Might as well,” he mumbles.

“Speak up, Weasley,” someone says.

“Terry,” Sirius warns. “Go ahead, Ron.”

Ron clears his throat and grabs the folder on his desk. “My assignment was to buy something at a store and then return it. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. The thought was scarier than it ended up being. I went to a grocer’s and bought dried pasta.” He clears his throat again, looking a little unnerved. “There were so many people and they were looking at me funny when they saw my camera, but it went alright.”

“That sounds like it went well,” Sirius comments.

Ron grins. “It did! I almost forgot the receipt, because they wanted to keep it when I returned the pasta, but I just told them no and suddenly that was fine too.” He gives a half-shrug. “The hardest part was trying to figure out what to get, there were _so_ many options.”

“Muggles have _dried_ pasta?” Padma asks. “They don’t have fresh?”

“They do have pasta fresh too, but it doesn’t last very long because they don’t have preservation spells,” Hermione explains. “So they dry it so it lasts a lot longer, then they boil it in water to return the moisture.”

“Don’t say moist, Granger.”

“ _Moist_ , Patil.”

The girls grin at each other.

*

“Harry, Tom, stay after class, please.”

*

They wait until everyone’s gone before they both sit down on his desk, flanking him in his chair. “Professor Black,” Harry says with a wide smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Long time no see,” Tom says.

Sirius leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Since the sixth year’s curriculum will be fixed with the help of your classmates in the form of extra credit, would you like to help me with the seventh year’s instead?”

Harry nods . “Of course, Professor Black,” she says sweetly. “After dinner again?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sirius agrees.

“Tom?” Harry asks.

“Yes, that sounds good.” Because of course he, like Harry, always keeps his Friday night free of responsibilities and appointments if he can help it.

“Perfect, I’ll see you in my office at seven thirty.” 

There’s something in his expression that Harry can’t place, but it’s gone before she can truly process it, so she doesn’t think anything of it.

*

Dinner can’t go fast enough, honestly. They stand in front of his office door at exactly seven thirty, though it takes him a minute extra to open the door after they knock. When he does open the door, Harry’s mouth dries up, because suddenly she knows exactly what that look meant.

It was a challenge.

He’s dressed casually, the way he does at home, in grey sweatpants, a blue Henley and grey socks. That in itself isn’t surprising, but seeing him wear those things brings back memories of the summer, where they spent three weeks incessantly teasing him, and Harry’s mind just completely whites out. 

“Hi,” Sirius says, amused.

“Uh.”

Sirius snorts.

“Professor Black,” Tom says, giving him a once-over and giving Harry a gentle shove, closing the door behind them. With a thoughtful look he bolts the door, then grins charmingly at Sirius.

Except Sirius leads them through the door to his private quarters, where they’ve only set foot before to visit the loo, so neither of them has had time to inspect his quarters. What they find is a brightly lit room, much like his classroom. 

There are two dark brown velvet loveseats, a low mahogany coffee table and two dressoirs, one of which is under one of the windows. The curtains are light green, the walls cream-coloured and there’s light grey flooring. One open grey door leads to a kitchen and the other one to a bedroom. There are a few lamps around the living quarters that seem Muggle but probably run on magic, and he has photos on the wall above the second dressoir of those he considers family.

Portraits of the Tonks family when Nymphadora was just a child, one of Narcissa Malfoy with Draco that seems to have been taken recently, then one of James, Lily and Harry, one of Regulus and Sirius when they were teenagers. There’s also a photo of Remus and Sirius at her parents’ wedding and the last one is a photo of Harry, Luna and Tom in front of the Hogwarts Express taken in Harry’s first year.

“I didn’t know you still considered Narcissa Malfoy family,” Tom comments.

“Only for the last few years. Draco must’ve come home with stories about me,” Sirius says as he sits down on one of the loveseats.

Harry, though, feels right at home wherever Sirius lives because that’s how she grew up, and so she freely walks to the kitchen and then the bedroom, in both rooms the same colour-scheme. There is another door there and upon further inspection finds that it’s a medium sized bathroom, with a bath, a double vanity, a shower stall and a towel cabinet.

When she comes back to the living room, Sirius has moved to the kitchen, getting them all tea. He comes back quick enough, holding a tray and putting it down on the table between them before getting comfortable again in his own chair. “So.”

“So,” Tom and Harry echo.

“How’s the first week been?”

Harry groans and lets herself fall against Tom. “They’ve started us on so much homework it should be a crime.”

“You barely have any subjects,” Tom snorts.

“Nobody told you to take all the possible NEWTs you could,” Harry snaps back. “At least Sirius didn’t give us homework yet.” She only belatedly notices that she dropped the ‘uncle’ again, but he doesn’t seem to care this time around.

“He told us to go through chapter one,” Tom says dryly. “That’s considered homework.”

“It’s _Sirius_ , we read chapter one in class,” Harry says with a shrug. She turns back to their professor. “It was awful, except for your class, of course.”

Tom rolls his eyes and Sirius grins behind his mug.

They speak mostly about classes, and Sirius brings up his own experiences of the past few days, most notably the seventh years, which is the year he wants them to fix now if what he said was any indication.

Harry moves to Tom’s lap halfway through one of Sirius’ stories, leaning back against him, and it feels no different than the summer except she’s not wearing one of Sirius’ T-shirts. Once more she’s caught between whatever game Sirius and Tom are playing because Tom starts kissing her neck while she’s talking, thoroughly distracting her.

“Oh my god, Tom,” Harry complains, “I’m trying to explain my essay for Transfiguration.”

“I’m not kissing your mouth, so I don’t see why you can’t still talk.”

It’s when it’s almost nine that Sirius finally brings up what he invited them for. “Seventh year,” he starts, “is when the Ministry decides that you’re old enough for some of the more… adult aspects of Muggle life, so to speak. The family aspect, though I can’t say that it’s very family friendly. Merlin knows how this got okayed at the Ministry, but it sure wasn’t my doing.”

“Okay?” Harry says, utterly confused.

Sirius smirks. “Indeed.” He stands and goes back into his office, comes back with two lesson books and what looks to be a syllabus. “I thought it’d be more comfortable for us to work on it in my living quarters rather than in the office.” He hands them the books. “Please don’t take these further than my office, they’re not approved for those below the age of seventeen.”

On the cover of one of the books is what Harry assumes is a family portrait, two adults and two children. The syllabus just reads the words, “The Muggle lifestyle”, not even a gaudy cover image on it like all the previous ones have.

Then she opens one of the textbooks to a random page and squeaks.

There’s a moving image of a woman in the middle of childbirth, something Harry really did _not_ need to see, _ever_ , thanks. “Family life, yeah okay,” she manages, though morbid curiosity keeps her from closing the book the way she initially wanted to. Tom leans over her shoulder and makes a ‘huh’ sound.

“That’ll be you one day, you know,” Tom says smartly.

“Will not, shut up,” Harry says, and she shudders.

“That’s what you say now.”

“I’m shelving this decision for when we’ve moved out and have jobs and stuff. Maybe I’ll reconsider then, but this,” she taps the image, “is not going to be me for a _long_ time.”

“It’s a Muggle birth, that’s why she looks like she’s in pain,” Sirius adds casually, as if he knows exactly what they’re looking at. From their reactions, he probably does. “Magic makes life a lot easier and that includes childbirth.”

Tom and Harry both raise an eyebrow. “You know this how?”

“I was in the room when you were born, because your dad couldn’t get away from work fast enough and you were in a real hurry to arrive.”

Harry blanches. “Thanks, but can we not talk about this?”

“I’m just saying.” Sirius looks at the clock. “I’ll give you until a quarter to ten to figure out whether you wish to assist me with the seventh year curriculum. I’ll be in my office until then, so you can privately… talk it over and… decide what you want to do.”

“You want an answer tonight?” Harry asks, just to be sure.

“It would be appreciated but no, it doesn’t have to be tonight.” Sirius walks over and gives them both a kiss on the crown of their heads, then as promised leaves them to it, closing the door to the office softly behind him.

Tom immediately gets up from the loveseat and grabs Harry’s hand, already pulling her with her toward the open door to the bedroom. He shoves her back onto the bed, and she bounces twice before falling still. “Let’s fuck on his bed.”

Harry is startled into a laugh. “That’s not what he meant for us to do.”

“Of course he did, he left the door open and then he left us alone.”

“Not everyone thinks like you, Tom,” Harry says fondly. “That’s not a no, by the way.”

Tom looks smug. “Like you’d ever say no to sex.”

She hits him on the arm then kicks her shoes off and crawls under the covers. “ _In_ his bed,” she says meaningfully, folding the duvet over so that it’s hanging half off one side, exposing most of the sheets. “Gotta leave him a nice wet spot right in the middle of this bed as well.”

Tom is already hard and no doubt that’s his body remembering that usually around this time he’s getting off one way or another. Harry wastes no time undressing, throwing all her clothes haphazardly in a pile on the side of the bed, but Tom doesn’t bother with anything except his shoes and his belt, because of course he doesn’t.

Just like his body remembers that they usually have sex around this time, so does Harry’s, and when Tom slides between her legs, all he finds is wet heat. 

“Dripping already?” he teases, and she kicks him playfully, about to say something but he enters her right then and there and instead she moans— _loudly_. “My little banshee,” Tom breathes in her neck, kindly keeping still so she can adjust to the stretch of him.

She doesn’t seem to be able to get used to his width if it’s been longer than a certain amount of hours, though they haven’t tried figuring out how long it takes, and from what she heard she’s not the only one. There are rumours that it’s to do with a Wixen’s faster healing, but it’s not like there’s any true research on it.

When she finally feels like she’s not going to tear in two, she kisses his temple and he starts moving, setting a slow pace but thrusting in hard and deep. He likes it that way, and their size difference is definitely a thing between them that they both reap the benefits from, including him having enough width to hurt her. 

With how short she is, he doesn’t need a cock that’s above average length either for that either, though he is slightly, from what they know of the statistics. They’ve never been with anyone but each other, so it’s not like either of them could compare.

With how worked up they both are, it doesn’t take Tom long to finish, and Harry feels like it’s the closest she’s ever come to an orgasm herself, which she has yet to experience. Tom finishes with a drawn out exhale, his grip on her thigh and her breast nearing painful, and then he slumps in her arms. 

He scoots down the bed a little, far enough that his head is pillowed on her chest, legs pulled up so they stay on the mattress. He licks her nipple and bites it gently and Harry feels herself throb. “I was so close, I could feel it,” she says mournfully.

“Wanna try?”

“Here?”

“Why not,” Tom says, always in a charitable mood after an orgasm.

“Maybe next time,” she sighs, looking at the clock. “I do want to go over the books a little to see what exactly we’re dealing with here, because—you know he’s testing us.”

“I’m well aware,” Tom says, amused. “He’s merely continuing where we left off in the summer, and I’m okay with that, but are you?” 

“I think so.”

“Not good enough.”

“I want to know what’s in the books. I’m guessing it’s some sort of Muggle sex ed thing, but I don’t know if—I just don’t know. We can’t take anything back.”

Tom looks annoyed with her. “Harry, come now. Sirius will let us back out of anything if we want to, you know him better than that. He’s not going to do anything that we don’t want to, because at the end of the day he could get into a lot of trouble just handing us those books.”

“I’d never—”

“No, but if someone were to find out anyway, he’d probably get fired.”

“For the books?” 

“Not that, no. If anyone finds out about this summer—”

“But we didn’t _do_ anything.”

“He didn’t put a stop to it, and that’s enough for some people, your parents, for one, my guardians. Come on, Harry, think. He’s thirty-seven and we’re sixteen. Of course he’s going to get in big trouble over something like that.”

Harry grimaces. “Well that’s never going to happen. I’ll never tell and neither will you!”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone either,” Tom sighs. “Are you satisfied now? Can we play his game now, because I really want to.”

“Fine. But I still want to see the books before we say yes to _that_ part.”

“We can play without the books, yes.”

“Okay.” Harry kisses his forehead, which never fails to make him smile.

Harry puts on her skirt again but forgoes the rest of her uniform, choosing instead to steal one of Sirius’ many shirts that he keeps at Hogwarts as well. He only stays the nights on the days he teaches, not because he has to but because he prefers Hogwarts to Grimmauld Place. 

They leave an impressive wet spot in their wake, throwing the covers back the way they were before going back to the living room. Sirius is going to kill them, she’s sure of it, but Tom is smirking as he grabs one of the books and starts leafing through it. His face does _something_ , and he looks askance at Harry for a long moment before he goes back to the book.

“Do you notice anything?” Tom asks. “Something odd?” He’s laughing. “ _Harry_ , and you thought he didn’t leave his bedroom door open on purpose. It’s Sirius, he’s not an idiot.”

“I know he’s not, what are you talking about?” Harry frowns. The book she’s holding is about the reproductive system, which, while interesting, isn’t exactly what she expected from a class called Muggle Studies.

“I’m not going to tell you if you don’t figure it out yourself.”

Harry rolls her eyes, because of course he won’t. He refuses to help her with homework as well, only helping her with Potions because that’s a class she’s worse at than even History.

She looks through the book, and she finds that what Sirius said is true; it goes from the reproductive system to contraceptives to a whole section on toys and then it goes into pregnancy. She looks at the cover once more, at the happily smiling family on it, and officially considers herself confused. The book doesn’t come with a title.

“What the hell?” she ends up with. “I don’t get it.”

Tom eyes her silently, as if willing her to go through her thoughts out loud.

“He said this is seventh year material, not suitable for anyone below the age of seventeen. That’s literally all I can think of, stop looking at me like that. I don’t know what you’re on about, so just tell me,” she ends snippily.

Tom’s grin widens. “You’re holding the Muggle version of the one I’m holding, which is the one for Wixen. _Think_ , Harry.”

“I am thinking, but I’m not a bloody mind reader, I don’t _know_ what you’re talking about.”

“Then I won’t tell you,” he repeats.

Harry slumps in her seat, “Tom, oh my god,” she groans, drawing out the last word dramatically. “I can’t stand you right now, I’m just going to sit here.” She gets up and drops down in Sirius’ seat. 

The book is certainly interesting, but Harry has no clue what it has to do with Muggle Studies or what in Merlin’s name possessed the Ministry to approve this. She knows it’s not Sirius’ doing, because he’s been trying to push his own curriculum through ever since they started fixing it and he’s been met with a lot of resistance if not outright dismissal.

If Harry didn’t know any better, she’d think this was a book for class like sexual education, but it’s Sirius, he would never—

No, he would.

He definitely would, one hundred percent.

“He wants to play,” Tom says finally, grey eyes unreadable, “are you in?”

*

They meet twice a day in their abandoned classroom, which they’ve transformed into a room of their own. It used to be a music room, with old and out of tune instruments stored underneath dusty sheets. The main attractions are two study pianos, a grand piano and a full sized harp. Harry doesn’t have a clue how to play any of the instruments they found in the room, but Tom likes to mess around with them sometimes.

When they first found it, they spent a few weeks cleaning the room of dust and grime, rearranging the furniture and instruments until it was to their liking. They Transfigured one of the piano benches into a large sofa, and they Transfigured one of the pallets in the back into a low table.

The classroom is theirs now.

It’s located on the first floor but all the way in the back of the castle, where nobody ever comes. They found it by accident after looking for a good hiding spot in first year, when their housemates hadn’t considered Tom a worthy heir to Slytherin yet. 

Now it’s become their war room of sorts.

“The syllabus is part of the Muggle Studies curriculum, so it’s not like he’s outright lying, but the accompanying books aren’t. They’re from a sex ed class,” Harry sums up.

“Yes,” Tom confirms. “He’s calling our bluff.”

“I’m surprised how well they go with the syllabus. I saw some of the stuff in there, it does talk about the same sort of thing, just not in as much detail. I saw something about condoms there too.”

Tom pulls a face. “The only purpose of those is to keep from getting come everywhere.”

Harry straddles his hips. “But I _like_ when it’s everywhere,” she pouts.

Tom snorts.

*

Come Friday is another Muggle Studies class. With only sixteen students and most classes not much better, they spend some time rearranging the furniture, manually of course, because Sirius is still insisting on as little magic as possible in his class. They sit in groups of four, which means of course that Harry pulls Tom with her to sit with Ron and Hermione in a group, as if she’d have it any other way.

“Walk this evening?” Hermione asks while they get their books out of their bags.

“Can’t, we’re visiting Sirius,” she says. “After class?”

“I was going to the library until dinner. Why are you visiting Sirius?”

“He’s my uncle, can’t I visit family?” Harry says, flushing a little under the scrutiny.

Hermione gives her a questioning look, then her expression clears. “Oh, you’re helping with the older syllabi?”

Harry just nods, doesn’t trust herself to speak in fear of giving herself away, but Tom takes care of it for them. “We’re not sure yet, but possibly,” he lies smoothly, giving a slight smile. 

For some reason nobody ever suspects him of lying, and Harry thinks she recognises it anytime he does, but sometimes she wonders if he lies to her too and if she’d notice, with how easy it comes to him. But then she remembers that he specifically said he’d never outright lie to her, which, well, she’s not stupid, she knows that can mean a myriad of things, but she has to trust him or they’ll never get anywhere.

They’ve once more taken the table closest to the door, and as he’s done every week since they first entered the classroom back in third year, Ron is the one to get up and close the door, the sign that anyone who comes in is now officially late, though that’s pretty rare.

Having both Tom and Hermione in their group means that Ron and Harry are forced into productivity as well, because they definitely don’t allow slacking off. This also means there’s no easy tic-tac-toe games while they let the two brains do the big thinking. Instead, Harry’s forced into summarising chapter one paragraph four, which isn’t even interesting, explaining something about the structure of the upcoming chapters.

Each group is creating their own summary of the first chapter, nevermind that they already read through it, but Sirius likes to go through it with the class as well. It seems this year he’s a lot more lost than he was in previous years, however, because the way they’re used to him teaching is him doing most of it from memory, making liberate use of a blackboard.

“Harry,” Ron whispers, grinning, and he points at his book. “Page sixteen.”

Harry goes back to paragraph three, then snickers quietly at a painting of a woman dressed in red and blue with two naked children in front of her. Tom pauses, in the process of doing that mental thing where he goes through pages in his mind, then he rolls his eyes at them. He hisses something under his breath.

“Fucking children,” Hermione mutters to herself.

*

They arrive at his office at eight o’clock this week, and the door is already open. While in previous years they came over every other week, Sirius never said they couldn’t come over more often than that. Now that Sirius officially called their bluff, Harry’s a little nervous about it, however. What if they go too far and Sirius ends up changing his mind? It could ruin everything between them. And how far is too far, anyway? Where will someone like Sirius draw the line?

Jittery with nerves she enters the office, where Sirius is seated behind his desk furiously scribbling something in a notebook. When he looks up, he seems surprised to see them, and he leans back in his chair, giving them both a once-over, or at least Harry hopes it’s both of them. The unthinkable would be Sirius only wanting to play with one of them, but surely he understands by now that they’re a package deal.

“What are you working on?” Harry asks curiously, bouncing over and worming her way onto his lap without thinking about it. She feels her cheeks heat, but this isn’t exactly something that she’s never done before. Hell, even Dumbledore and McGonagall have been in the room with them while she was seated on his lap, yet it feels like there’s a lifetime of change between last year and just last week.

Sirius makes a noise in the back of his throat and moves to accommodate her, one arm around her waist, the other on his armrest. “Hermione and Padma have been kind enough to start working on a better version of the sixth year materials.”

Harry bites her lip and throws her arm around his shoulders to better balance herself. “So are you busy? We can come back next week, we don’t mind.”

“Nope, it’s fine.” Sirius pats her side and gently pushes her off. “Why don’t you go to my rooms and get yourself something to drink while I finish this? I’ll be done soon.”

“Responsible,” Tom comments dryly.

“Only sometimes,” Sirius grins.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This story isn't actually as plotty as the beginning may suggest. I had some things in mind for it, but then decided not to go through with it. It certainly has the potential to grow, but I cut it short because I got nervous about the kink, which cut it short by at least 2-3 chapters. That's not even talking about the Muggle Studies thing I wanted to do mess around with. I just realised I shot myself in the foot when I chose religion for that. In any case, I left it in, in case I ever decide to come back to it. I doubt that'll happen, but I like leaving backdoors just in case. :)

####  **Three**

_2016_

_I don’t know why we listened to you. Despite being allowed to defile your bed, it was still horrid. I just remember feeling desperate every second of the day, frustrated. Logically I was aware that those feelings weren’t based on reality, but those first few weeks I just remember feeling alone. I know, I should have said something, but what difference would it have made?_

_*_

_1996_

She finds the note afterward when she’s stepping back into her skirt, searching for her knickers and instead finding the folded up parchment that must’ve fallen off Sirius’ bed in their haste.

  
  


_Dear Tom & Harry, _

_Kindly refrain from your adult activities where you can get caught by staff and students alike. In abandoned music rooms, for example. Wouldn’t want a teacher to do the rounds and find you._

_I worry about you._

_Love,_

_Sirius._

_P.S.: I liked the gift._

  
  


Harry blinks at the note, confused, but Tom starts laughing. With a shrug she hunts down the rest of her uniform, then decides to throw them in Sirius’ laundry basket, instead choosing to steal another of his T-shirts. At the rate she’s going he won’t have any left by the end of the year, and the thought makes her giggle. If that forces him to wear Henleys more often, well, she certainly won’t find a complaint in that either.

Tom sits back down on the bed and slaps her hands away when she’s about to put on her bra again, taking it out of her hands and throwing it toward the laundry basket. “Don’t bother with these,” he says, still smiling, throwing away her knickers next.

“Tom,” she squeals, “I can’t just—”

“You did it at Grimmauld Place,” he reminds her.

“That was different,” she argues.

“It really wasn’t.”

It _was_ , but she doesn’t have the words to explain why it was so different. They’d been caught in a bubble there, a fantasy, tension thick in the air. Except when Tom takes her hand and pulls her into the living room again, she has to reconsider the tension. Sirius’ gaze is dark and assessing, and when Tom nods, he smiles. 

“Think you can go a week without?” Tom asks casually. He pulls her close when she doesn’t answer, tucking her between his side and the armrest of the loveseat. “Well?”

“ _What?_ ” Harry asks. She still has no clue what the note meant, but it seems Tom is going to fill her in on that right where Sirius can hear them talk. It’s one thing to know he can hear them, and it’s quite another to have him _watch them_ talk.

“He was kind enough to offer us the use of his bed,” Tom continues.

Harry reddens, hides her hot face in her hands. “Why would you talk about this when Uncle Sirius is _right_ there,” she complains. She shifts, hiding her face in Tom’s shirt instead. Once more she feels caught in their game. “For your information, I don’t _know_ if I can go a week without, that’s a long time,” she mutters.

Sirius snorts.

“You managed three weeks,” Tom reminds her.

“You weren’t around then.” Harry swallows. “I just don’t see the point in _not_ having sex when you’re right there.” She likes sex, she loves it and she craves it. “Besides, I had people to distract me when you weren’t there.”

“I’d like to try,” Tom says.

Harry grimaces. “If that’s what you want,” she says, and she can’t help but sulk about it.

Tom kisses her, and his kisses never fail to cheer her up. His hand seeks the hem of her shirt, lifts it so his fingers touch her bare stomach. “You’ll be fine,” he says. She leans back into the corner with a sigh when his fingers go further up, cupping her breast, only dimly aware of Sirius’ heavy gaze on the pair of them. “You can keep me warm,” he whispers against her lips.

“So you’ll play with me?” she asks in a small voice.

“If that’s what you want,” he echoes.

Harry nods, feeling small and insecure, because this isn’t exactly territory they’ve spoken about before, usually something they tend to gloss over, relying on knowing each other so thoroughly that they can anticipate each other’s needs, but Harry—she’s not been entirely honest about her own needs. 

Tom doesn’t understand how or why or what it feels like to need sex as much as she does, but it drives her crazy, the way she wants him all the time. She’s always holding back, because Tom already thinks twice a day is too many times, and the last thing she wants is rejection. Even during the holidays she keeps from asking for it more often than that, ashamed of being so needy.

So she greedily takes what she can get and never asks for more than what he’s willing to give, both of them compromising to meet the other. Even if she didn’t, she doesn’t know how to approach the topic anyway without scaring Tom off. 

Her Tom, who has a wildly different libido, who accepts the little he knows about hers.

Sirius clears his throat. “Tea?” he asks with a light grin.

Tom doesn’t seem to be paying attention, lifting up Harry’s shirt so far he exposes the underside of her breasts. He pulls on a nipple, but gentle or not, Harry slaps his hand away with a quiet, “Ow, _Tom_.”

The thing is, after that initial challenge, neither Sirius nor Tom brings up the books afterward, and Harry isn’t going to either. There’s a lot of staring going on between the two of them, a lot of half-lidded smirks and expressions that Harry doesn’t see because she’s just not paying much attention to it. They’re not letting on what it is that’s going on either, and Tom’s tight-lipped when she asks.

So they spend an hour and a half chatting about everything under the sun while Harry works on the homework that she hasn’t finished yet, Hermione would be proud if she’d known. Then again, there’s no reason Harry wouldn’t be able to tell Hermione, once she thinks some more about that. All Hermione knows is that they’re helping with the materials, courtesy of Tom’s lie during class. She doesn’t need to know more than that.

There’s nothing going on, after all.

No need to get defensive.

She’ll need to remember that for next time.

*

Harry can do this, not having sex for a week.

It’s fine.

She’s fine.

_Everything’s fine._

*

She’s about to fucking _snap_ by the time next Friday rolls around, tense and jittery.

*

Sirius is sitting in his loveseat when they enter, reading a book that Harry’s not particularly interested in. The man looks up and puts his book away, but Harry stops and stares at him, because _why_ is he not in his office? 

Sirius glances at the clock. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I interrupting your private time?” he asks casually. “I distinctly remember you two retreating to bed around this time during the summer, without fail, might I add.”

“Sirius,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Sirius says with a smirk.

Harry narrows her eyes at him, then huffs and pulls Tom with her to Sirius’ bedroom and they don’t even bother closing the door behind them. Fine then, if that’s how he wants things to be, two can play that game, or three in this case.

There’s a note on the bed, but Tom takes it before Harry can fully read it, only catching the words ‘ _before you start, use’._ Harry undresses in a hurry, not caring where she throws her clothes, and then she’s in the middle of the bed, Tom still fully dressed because he’s slow.

Tom cocks his head and waves his wand in a circle, tapping her stomach and whispering something, and Harry feels her pussy glow so hot it almost hurts before it goes back to normal. “What the hell,” she exclaims.

Tom chuckles. “It says it’ll keep us from making a mess of his bed.”

“And you just trusted him not to prank us?” Harry yells. “Tom!”

“Relax, he would never jeopardise our game,” Tom says calmly. “I’m curious what it does, he didn’t exactly explain.” He carefully puts his wand away, then leans forward to kiss her while one hand goes for her opening, the other holding him up, intending most likely to open her nice and slow before going in.

Harry has different ideas. “No playing, just fuck me,” she demands.

She slaps his fingers away from her opening and unzips his slacks and pulls down his trousers and his boxers to free his cock. She instantly reaches for him, just holding him. He’s hot and thick, and she moves her hands delicately, teasing, a familiar weight in her hand that she can’t get enough of. He watches her with half-lidded eyes as she plays with him, but then she gets impatient and she leans back against the pillows that smell like Sirius.

Tom settles easily between her legs and he pulls the covers over both of them, ensconcing them in comfortable warmth. “Fine, then. Guide me inside, darling,” he tells her with barely hidden excitement, holding up her legs at her knees. “Yeah?”

She nods.

Tom pushes in, guided by her fingers, and she winces, grasping at the sheets, her pussy as good as virginal by now. He thrusts in hard suddenly and she shouts, tears running down her cheeks, and the sudden pain hurts far more than after the three weeks they hadn’t seen each other, because at least then she’d been ready for it.

“He’s bigger than me, you know,” he says knowingly, ignoring it. “I saw it in the mornings, he’s longer and thicker.” He swallows audibly. “He’s going to hurt you _so much_ ,” he whispers.

Harry swallows and closes her eyes, gasping through it. She knows Tom won’t last long, not after a whole week of teasing himself by playing with her, knows he won’t last long with how tight she is, most likely bordering on painful for him, which, _good_. She’s trying not to think about Sirius hearing them, tries not to picture him inside her.

“Just use me, Tom,” she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks with shaking hands. 

“What do you think I’m doing?”

That’s a good point, because on the days they have _real sex_ , as he calls it, he at least takes the time to warm her up. Otherwise he does whatever he likes, which is usually just pushing in, something she _also_ likes, just not in the moment itself when the stretch is still too much. Afterward, though, is when she can fully appreciate it; they’ve always been so good together like that.

When Tom comes it’s punched out of him, a harsh gasp as he doubles over, because Harry isn’t the only one affected by a week of abstinence. He catches his breath against her neck, kissing her jaw and her shoulders and her collarbones lazily, then moves to kiss the tear tracks on her cheeks away. “You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

“You’d better remember that,” she says pointedly, though near the end it wasn’t exactly painful anymore. She winces when he pulls out, and then they both pause when nothing except her own wetness drips out.

“So that’s what the spell does,” Tom says excitedly, “it keeps it inside.” He pushes in a finger and when he pulls it out again, it’s covered with come but still nothing drips out. “I wonder how long it holds, and whether you have to manually cancel the spell.”

“Ten minutes,” Sirius says from the living room, because of course he heard all of it.

Harry wipes at her cheeks again, wiping away the last of her tears, and then she gets up on shaky legs. She hunts down her skirt and finds a T-shirt waiting for her in the bathroom, neatly folded with a note that has a smiley face on it. She dumps the rest of her uniform and her underwear in the laundry basket, then goes back into the living room, where Sirius is lounging in his loveseat.

Her limbs are still trembling, and Sirius is looking at her with a knowing grin on his face when she tries to take a sip of tea. They’re quickly joined by Tom.

“You’re making me buy more T-shirts,” Sirius tells them.

“How inconvenient for you,” Harry mutters sarcastically.

Sirius’ grin widens. “Indeed,” he says lightly.

Tom pulls her into his lap and his warm hands disappear under her shirt once more, an activity he seems to take great pleasure in if the smirk he sends Sirius is anything to go by. Tom is saying something, but she can’t hear it over the rushing in her ears when she _feels_ the spell break and it’s definitely going to leak through the fabric of her skirt.

With a squeak she stands, and she feels it slip between her thighs. 

Sirius chuckles when she makes a dash for the bathroom, arsehole.

When she comes back, she glares at the both of them. “We’re not using that spell again, I don’t care, that’s a _disgusting_ feeling.”

*

Tom doesn’t go further than he did last week, which is exposing the underside of her breasts, though he accidentally pulls it up far enough to expose a nipple as well which is hidden from view, thank god. Time flies, and before long it’s time to leave again.

“And remember, no shenanigans this week,” Sirius reminds them right as they’re about to step out of his living quarters.

Harry’s eyes widen. “Again?” she whispers.

“Mhmm, please don’t tell me you believed I’d allow you to run amok after learning what you two get up to together,” he says, both eyebrows raised. “That’d be most irresponsible of me.”

*

Harry’s survived one week of this, she can do another.

She _wants_ to, if only to prove to herself that she can without someone providing a welcome distraction. But without sex on the program, they don’t visit the music room, hang out all the time with other people, and even though Tom has no issues kissing her chastely in public, there’s no lazy make-out sessions, no teasing, no playing, nothing except a peck on her lips in passing.

But two days in and she’s already craving touch like she’s going to crawl out of her skin if Tom doesn’t put his hands on her within the next few minutes. It’s even worse when they’re together and he doesn’t even put his arm around her, and she’s never felt _worse_.

Harry’s so tempted to convince Tom to come with her to the music room, but she wants to win this challenge, unofficial as it is. There aren’t any stakes, at least none that she knows of, but she wants to be able to do this. Except it’s hard and she hasn’t felt this neglected since the first few months they started having sex, when they were twelve and dumb and hadn’t talked about anything at all.

But, she thinks, if they go to the music room now, even if it’s just to mess around, they’re going to end up fucking, she knows that a hundred percent sure. She’s an utter mess by the time the second week turns around, so jittery and hyped up that she doesn’t even wait until they’re past Sirius’ office before jumping Tom.

She steers him to the empty desk, hops on and pulls him down to her level by his tie so she can kiss him, and then he’s standing between her open legs. “Fuck me,” she demands, “ _please_.” She’s out of breath for no reason whatsoever, and her hands are shaking, and she can’t put into proper words how awful her week has been.

“Why don’t you calm down first,” Tom says coolly.

“But I want you now,” she argues.

“I know that, but you’re going to have to wait. We’re not going to do anything while you’re like this.” His hand reaches for her skirt, however, hiking it up and exposing nothing but skin, knickers back in her dorms. “Jesus,” he mutters. Two of his fingers find their way past her opening, and she shudders.

“What _else_ do you want from me?” she asks desperately. To her horror, she bursts into helpless tears. “I _missed_ you.”

Tom is confused. “Why? We’ve spent all our time together.”

“You didn’t touch me at all,” she sniffs, looking at the ceiling so she doesn’t have to look at him.

“You should have said.”

“You know what I get like!” she snaps.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Tom says calmly. 

He picks her up like she weighs nothing and carries her into Sirius’ living quarters, deposits her on the sofa and disappears into the kitchen. Harry leans her head between her knees and tries to breath. Sirius is fast to come to her side, and she curls up into his arms, not even sure why she’s crying at this point, maybe it’s just a whole week of pent up frustration forcing its way out.

She hates being in hysterics like this, but she can’t stop now that she’s started.

Tom comes back with a glass of water and sits on the armrest, and she takes it with trembling hands. “I’m s-s-sorry,” she stutters. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says, a lie of course, but if she already has trouble telling Tom about being so needy, there is no way she’s going to be able to tell Sirius about it.

“It’s okay, it happens,” Sirius says, sounding a little bewildered. “Are you okay now?”

Harry nods and takes a long sip from the water. “Yeah,” she says, licking her lips, “thank you.” Her outburst is highly embarrassing now that she’s feeling a little better, but she’s still feeling bad in her skin, like her body isn’t hers. 

“I see you didn’t bother with your uniform today,” Sirius comments.

Harry looks down at her T-shirt and gives him a shaky grin. “Didn’t see the point.”

Tom’s hand reaches out to cup her breast, and he raises an eyebrow. “No knickers _and_ no bra? My, you must have plans for tonight.”

Harry rolls her eyes. “You’re not funny.” She puts the glass on the table, only just catching the look between Tom and Sirius, and she tells herself that she really needs to start paying attention to those two, if she wants to figure out what the hell is going on. Are they already—no, they wouldn’t, not without telling her at least.

The thought hits her that Tom and Sirius on their own are further into their game than Harry and Sirius are. Even the three of them are further into their game than Harry and Sirius, in fact, and isn’t that depressing? That Tom is the one who furthers the game rather than Harry herself? Why can’t she do it?

But if she’s honest with herself, she knows why.

Harry’s terrified of being with him.

She loves him so much it hurts sometimes, her favourite person in the world apart from Tom, the person who let them hide out in his office in their first and second year, the person who let them share a bed in secret because he understood what her parents refused to see for the longest time, that Tom and Harry are it for each other and that nothing will stop them anyway. He distracted her when they were separated for three weeks, then let them run rampant in his house for another three weeks.

Uncle Sirius, the person who always understood Tom and Harry better than any other adult. There’s no way she’s willing to lose that, but now she’s torn because she _wants_ him, they both do, and Tom is a few steps ahead of her.

She wants to know what it’s like to wake up in his arms, to freely kiss him and to be held by him. She loves making him laugh, full throated or a chuckle, loves the way his eyes crinkle when he genuinely smiles, loves the lines around his mouth when he grins mischievously.

More than that, she wants to know what it’s like to wake up between them both.

But his grey eyes see more than Harry wants him to sometimes, and once more he shows his perceptiveness when he says, “You know, I’m here on Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturday mornings. You don’t have to wait until Friday evenings to come to me.”

Tom swallows audibly. “Thank you,” he says, and then he gets up and pulls Harry off the loveseat without another word.

Oh, _finally._

“Be right back, Uncle Sirius,” Harry grins, following Tom into the bedroom.

*

Harry doesn’t wait for Friday this time around, drags Tom with her to Sirius’ office on Wednesday evening the first chance she’s got. It’s not like they need to take into consideration his office hours, because he doesn’t do those—any questions someone might have, they can ask in class because there just aren’t that many students to make it worthwhile. 

Though sometimes he helps McGonagall out with her Head of Gryffindor duties, but he tends to do that on Thursdays and Fridays, right up until Tom and Harry show up at eight, which is when he nopes out, as he told her two years ago. At least it had made her laugh. “It’s good that you’re willing to spend time with your goddaughter, Sirius,” she’d said.

Sirius is still in his office, grading last week’s assignments most likely, and he only looks up long enough to smile up at them, smile morphing into a smirk when spotting Harry’s choice of attire once again, and then he goes back to what he was doing. Harry skips past him, Tom on her heels. 

Tom is sweet this time, with lingering hands and lazy kisses, opening her up properly before taking him, and she rides him while he touches her so gently that she feels a different sort of tears prick at her eyes, and she has to gulp around the lump in her throat.

They lay next to each other catching their breath, and then Tom suddenly laughs. “I don’t mind this either, you know,” he tells her, rolling over to kiss her until she’s dizzy with it.

*

Harry can’t help her smile, feeling better now that she’s had him again even though it’d only been a few days. They go back to the living room, where Sirius is seated on the floor in front of the low table with the same stack of papers from before. His eyes are dark when he glances, dark hair framing his face, and he bites his lip as he watches Tom pull Harry with him to the loveseat across from him.

“Had fun?” he asks, voice low.

“Of course, Uncle Sirius,” Harry says, beaming at him. “Did you?”

Sirius barks a surprised laugh. “Of course, love.”

Harry directs her small smile at her hands, but then Tom pulls her in her lap, and really, the way he just manhandles her where he wants her something else entirely, not something she minds, though sometimes his hold is hard enough to hurt. It serves to remind her that Tom does as Tom wants.

Predictably his hands disappear under her shirt, which he pulls up and _up,_ until the hem reaches her collarbone, until Sirius is able to see the way he’s holding both her breasts in his hands and squeezing them lightly, how he’s running his thumb over her nipples one at a time, rolling them between his fingertips playfully.

She throws her head back against his shoulder so she doesn’t have to see Sirius, doesn’t have to look him in the eyes, doesn’t want to risk seeing the disinterest in her body.

“Wanna show him how good your tits look?” Tom whispers in her ear, but in the dead quiet, there is no way Sirius hasn’t heard it too. “Will you let me show you off, darling? Let me make him envious.”

“You say the _sweetest_ things,” she says sarcastically, staring hard at the ceiling. “He’s working, Tom, he doesn’t care.”

“Oh, he does,” Sirius says roughly.

Harry swallows thickly. “Oh,” she repeats faintly. 

She feels like she’s missing something, like the game continued without her presence, that they’re now even further ahead than they’ve ever been, and she knows she can say no, but she doesn’t think this is a _no harm done_ type of situation. She doesn’t want to be deadweight. 

“Not yet,” Harry says quietly. “Let him wait,” she says softly, because Tom doesn’t want to hear about her insecurities, and has so far shown no patience for them.

“But we can sit like this?” he asks, squeezing her breasts hard at _‘this’._

“Mhmm, yes,” she breathes, closing her eyes and letting herself enjoy the moment, the fantasy of it, as if _this_ —sitting in her Tom’s lap with his long fingers cupping her breasts and Sirius watching them hungrily from across the table—is nothing but a fancy daydream.

She’d like to daydream that again, please, and again and again.

*

It’s Ron rather than Hermione who notices something amiss that Friday on their way outside after another Muggle Studies class, intent on getting some autumn air despite the heavy rain and the lumpy clouds in the sky. It’s the 4th of October, and it’s cold outside. They’re carrying two umbrellas, Hermione and Harry stuck under one and Ron under the other.

Tom’s off doing Tom-things with his Slytherin friends, Harry stopped keeping track of that in fourth year.

“We could walk through the castle,” Hermione says as they stand on the steps to the entrance hall, watching the horrible weather from inside.

“Yeah,” Harry says, drawn out, wrinkling her nose. 

Surprisingly, Ron is the one who says, “Nah, let’s go.” He steps out into the rain, cursing, then turns around and makes a wild gesture toward them before turning once more and marching off.

Harry and Hermione share a look but are quick to follow, though it’s hard to keep up with his long strides. “Slow down!” Hermione yells over the rain. “If we’re going to get sick, I’m blaming _you_.”

“We’ll be fine, that’s what magic’s for,” Ron says resolutely, and he points in the distance at a large copse of trees near the forest. “We can sit there.”

“What is going on?” Hermione whispers to Harry as they follow him toward the trees.

“I have no idea,” Harry replies just as quietly.

With a few spells, they end up sitting dry and warm beneath the trees, and it’s actually not so bad to sit here. Harry likes it, being out here with her friends. That is, until Ron says, “Now, forgive me if I’m wrong, but what the bloody hell is going on between you and Sirius?”

“Nothing!” she instantly says, but then she rolls her eyes at herself because Ron shakes his head in disbelief. “Nothing,” she repeats slower.

“Harry, the way he was _looking_ at you during class,” Ron says, and his eyes are wide, his arms spread out as if that means something to her.

“I didn’t notice anything,” Hermione says.

“Hermione,” Ron begins, but then apparently thinks better of it.

“Wait, is this why you dragged us out here?” Harry asks.

“Of course I’m not going to bring something like this up where people can hear, what did you expect? But Harry, are you alright? Did something happen?”

“He didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Harry’s mouth is dry, and while she can’t think of the words to tell them, they read her expression well enough.

“Harry, you have a crush on Sirius? But he’s—” Hermione starts with a surprised giggle.

“Bring it,” Harry sighs.

“—so old,” Hermione finishes.

“He went to school with your parents, he’s your father’s best... friend… oh.” Ron falls silent, as if that explains _everything_ , which it really doesn’t, at least not to Harry.

“You call him uncle, Harry,” Hermione brings up. “He’s our _teacher_.”

Harry winces and buries her face in her hands. “I _know_ , oh my god.”

“So… okay, so what’s going on, then?” Hermione frowns. “Because I’m really trying to understand here but I’m coming up blank. So you’re crushing on him? What about Tom?”

Harry flushes. “Yes.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Tom knows I have a crush on him,” Harry says, though she secretly thinks it’s more than just a simple crush. She’s had crushes before, and they never felt as breathtaking as whatever it is that she feels for Sirius does. “He doesn’t mind.”

“And Sirius?” Ron asks, looking fascinated. “Mate, I never thought I’d be friends with someone who’s after a teacher, I thought that just happened in trashy romance novels. Help, I’m in love with my dad’s best friend,” he mimics, voice high pitched.

Harry and Hermione laugh, because even Hermione is aware of those, no doubt through Lavender rather than Parvati.

“Harry, he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.” Ron turns red. “People definitely noticed.”

“We’ll just say she’s his niece,” Hermione says immediately. “That’s normal.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Ron agrees.

Harry can’t help but tear up a little at their support for this crazy thing she has going on. “I’m just… surprised you’re not chewing me out,” she says, happy and relieved but unwilling to share exactly what is going on between the three of them. That they know she has a crush has to be enough. “He hasn’t done anything, I promise.”

Ron whistles and scratches his head before he cracks up. “If today was any indication, he really wants to. Like, _really_.”

“Oh my god, Ron,” Harry says, ducking her head.

“ _Now_ she’s shy,” Hermione grins. 

“Just don’t get him fired, thanks mate.”

*

Harry finally understands what’s going on when she steps into his office and it’s empty. This isn’t unusual, except that neither Tom nor Sirius are at dinner, and usually Tom shows up for meals unless he got caught up in a book and in that case he’s in the library or in the common room, but he’s not there either.

The door to the living room opens for her, keyed into the wards as she is, and—

They’re kissing.

Tom and Sirius are standing in the middle of his living room in a lip-lock.

She’s rooted to the spot, not with jealousy but with envy, and she feels arousal curl low in her belly when one of them, she can’t tell who, moans quietly. 

Their hands roam freely across backs and arses, resting on hips and waists and biceps, fingers curling through hair and stroking jawlines and cheeks in a kiss that turns more heated the longer she watches.

She feels like an intruder suddenly, this private moment between the two of them, and as silently as she can she steps back out again, hoping that they hadn’t seen her. Neither of them seems to have noticed her, and then she’s dashing back through his office and then his classroom and finally she stands in the hallway, leaning against the wall, trying to get her breath back.

Her heart is beating in her throat and she’s terribly turned on, and she can’t stop smiling as she makes her way back to the Great Hall, as if she was the one getting kissed so completely and so thoroughly.

*

Harry’s grinning wildly when she hurries over to the Gryffindor table, intent on sharing dinner with them. She feels so giddy she can burst into giggles at any moment, and Hermione cocks her head at her while making room between her and Ron.

“What?” Ron asks under his breath.

“Nothing,” Harry says, smiling sunnily. 

She blindly grabs dishes and fills her plate with whatever, some greens at least, and she desperately tries to get the image out of her head long enough to function and have an actual conversation with her friend. She can’t get over the way they stood together, nearly the same height now, can’t unsee the way Tom had his arms thrown around Sirius’ neck, can’t unhear the moan, long and low.

“Earth to Harry,” Hermione says, waving two fingers in her face. “I have to study, do you want to come with us to the library?”

Harry blinks and notices that most people have already left the Great Hall, just ten minutes left before everything disappears. “I’ll check in with Tom, I think, but thanks.”

“Where’s he anyway?” Ron asks.

Harry fights her stupid grin desperately. “With Sirius,” she says, trying to keep a straight face but then she sees them in her head again, Sirius’ hands on Tom’s arse, and she ends up grinning anyway. She laughs at herself, shaking her head, and takes two quick bites of her food before she has to go hungry.

She realises suddenly that Sirius had to have known she was there, because surely he’d been aware someone had crossed the wards. He keyed Tom and Harry into the doors years ago, and as far as Harry knows they’re the only ones, but surely he still feels it when someone steps into his office? Yes, he had to have known but he must not have cared.

What Harry’s wondering though is whether Tom will tell her or if he’ll wait or not say anything at all, and what she should feel in case he doesn’t. She doesn’t expect him to keep it from her, but she thinks that if she were in his stead, she’d like to take a bit to process it.

“Harry,” Hermione says again, and she looks ready to go, her backpack slung over her shoulders, her outer robe hanging over one arm.

“What?” Harry looks up, bats her eyelashes. “ _What?_ ” she repeats, then takes a better look and realises her friends are saying goodbye for the day. “Wait, no, don’t leave me yet, it’s _weird_ to sit here on my own. Ten more minutes, mum!”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “So sit with Neville, Ginny and Luna, they’re still at the Hufflepuff table,” she suggests, nodding at the boy and waving when the girls turn around to see who he was looking at.

Harry sighs deeply. “Fine,” she says, and she packs up in record time, taking her plate with her and then she’s at the Hufflepuff table with them.

“I love how we’re the back-up option,” Luna comments. “Where’s my wayward brother?”

“He had something to work on with Sirius,” Harry says with a shrug, carefully not looking up from her plate in fear of smiling again and to the wrong person. “You know, school stuff. Homework or something, I don’t know.” She should probably stop talking now.

“I see.” Luna nods with a smile, one that most people assume is serene but is actually the one she wears when she’s making fun of you, so Harry flips her off. The girl giggles. “You know, Ginny told me her brothers will be coming over for Christmas, so it’ll be awfully crowded in the Burrow. Maybe I should come sta—”

Harry’s face does some sort of _twisting_ at that, not that she knows what exactly it’s doing but she can take a guess, and Luna has to stop talking because she’s laughing too hard. “Our parents think you’re _so_ cute,” she mumbles. “Little do they know…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we come to the smutty end. Honestly, this fic devolved fast... ^^"

####  **Four**

_1996_

Tom and Sirius are seated at the kitchen table when she enters his quarters, bowls of soup in front of them. She raises an eyebrow at them both, debating whether she should tell them that she knows or wait for either of them to come out with it. “Where’ve you been? I went looking for you,” she tells Tom, taking a seat across from him. 

She pretends not to notice Sirius removing his hand from certain places.

Tom looks playful. “And you just gave up?” He makes a disappointed _tsk_ sound. 

“I was hungry,” Harry grins back. “I see you’ve covered that.” She decides she may as well start on her homework, so she gets her Charms textbook and notebook out of her bag, trying to pay attention to them from the corner of her eye, but it’s nearly impossible to see what’s going on though she sees they share a look. 

Interesting. 

Is she unwanted tonight? 

That thought hurts a little, that’s _not_ how this was supposed to go. It was supposed to be them with Sirius, but if that’s what they want, she’s not going to be their deadweight, especially not if that was their first kiss. Those are supposedly special, she knows this, but she doesn’t know what that’s like; Tom and Harry have been kissing since they were children, progressing throughout many years to get where they are now.

“You’re still eating,” she says, staring at her books as she thinks about it. “I’ll go see Hermione in the library.”

“It’s fine,” Tom says.

“We just finished,” Sirius says, getting up to grab the two bowls from the table and putting them in the sink. “You were just on time.”

 _Was I?_ Harry thinks to herself, self-doubt running through her system like poison. She’s never been unsure about their relationship before and she can’t say she likes it either. She bites her lip, avoiding either of their eyes. “If you say so.”

“We say so,” Sirius says firmly.

*

“Sirius?” she asks that evening, when things have gone back to normal in as far as their Friday evenings at Sirius are normal anyway. 

Tom’s in a _mood_ tonight, still aroused and pressed against her arse, his hands never leaving her skin for very long while she holds the book he’s supposed to be reading, and they’re all pretending his attention is on the letters rather than her exposed tits, her T-shirt pulled up to her collarbones tonight.

“Harry?” Sirius replies without looking up from the journal he’s reading.

“Do you feel if someone steps past the wards?”

Sirius smiles at his book. “ _Oh_ , yes, I do.”

*

Tom doesn't tell her and she doesn't know what that means.

*

They sit much like that the next Friday as well, and to give Tom credit, he does get _some_ reading done, he’s just slower than usual about it. She walks in on them in the afternoon and when she comes back from the bathroom in the evening she catches the tail of what looks like a chaste kiss. She becomes an expert at pretending she hasn’t seen any of it, because nobody else is bringing it up and she doesn’t see why it’s her responsibility to do so— _she_ ’s not the one sticking her tongue down Sirius’ throat.

They must’ve gotten on an intercity without her knowledge, their escalation snowballing, their game quickly approaching territory they can’t come back from.

On Friday the 18th her T-shirt lands on the floor and she hides her burning face in her hands while her nipples perk up from the cold air and pure arousal, Tom grinning like a fiend behind her, mouthing at her shoulders, hands on her hips.

“You like?” Tom asks innocently. He pulls Harry’s hands from her face, pulls them behind her instead so that she’s entirely exposed to the cold air but most importantly to Sirius’ dark eyes, pupils blown.

“Mhmm,” is all Sirius says. 

Tom’s hands move down her waist to rub her thighs under her skirt. 

She’s quick to grab his wrists before he gets any ideas about lifting it, heart still frantic over the fact that she’s sitting topless in Sirius’ living room, that Sirius has seen her like this now. She doesn’t even know if her exposed chest affects him at all, maybe he’s just thinking about Tom, what if he doesn’t even care beyond the fact that they’re tits, not that they’re hers.

*

“Maybe you should change into something more comfortable,” Tom suggests next Friday.

Harry wishes she could see if it does anything to Sirius, because he always makes sure his T-shirt or in today’s case his sweater falls over his crotch, hiding the bulge she knows is there, impressive even when it’s not erect. Unlike Tom, _she_ has never seen his morning wood, and she wants to know what he looks like when he’s hard.

Sirius gets up, but she doesn’t get to see anything because of course Tom distracts her right that moment by pulling her up and backward, until she’s sitting on his erection. To be fair, Tom spends most of his time here that way, and it’s not as if she isn’t constantly wet and ready. He pulls the back of her skirt out of the way, so there’s only the fabric of his slacks and boxers between the length of his hard cock and her pussy. 

“Think of how easily you can keep me warm like this,” he whispers in her ear, near inaudible.

“You want that?” Harry asks at a regular volume.

“Yes,” Tom says, then pulls her in for a kiss. “He won’t see it,” he says quietly.

“He’ll see my _face_.”

“Oh, darling, you think he’ll be looking at your face when you sit like this?” Tom squeezes her breasts harshly, then pinches her nipples on the wrong side of painfully. 

Even though the shock of it goes straight to her pussy, Harry still doesn’t like it when he does that, so she slaps his hands away with a warning, “ _Tom_ , only when we fuck.”

“I’m aware,” Tom says.

Harry glares at the ceiling. “Sometimes I wish you’d actually listen to me.”

“I do listen to you.”

“When it’s convenient for you,” Harry argues. “Otherwise you do what you want.”

“That’s not true, we compromise all the time.”

But Harry forgets what she’s about to say, because Sirius chooses that moment to return to the living room, dressed in nothing but a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants that are, in one word, tenting, and _how_. There’s no doubt about his size either, the sweatpants hide nothing, the dickprint clear.

Sirius takes himself in hand and squeezes visibly, and even in his large hands his cock looks massive and Harry—

Harry wants to see how much of it could fit in her mouth, wants to know how much it would hurt to have him just push in and ignore her cries for him to stop, wants to know what it feels like to have him in as far as he can go, how much would be left. She wishes Tom was inside of her now, that she’d chosen to warm his cock for him instead of starting an argument, or that his fingers were in her. Either of those options would be perfect right now, her pussy squeezing around nothing but empty air.

“Better?” Sirius asks, fingers still wrapped around his cock, casually stroking himself.

Harry finally looks up with half-lidded eyes, her mouth slightly open as she fantasises openly about what he could do to her. “Yeah,” she whispers and she swallows thickly, wondering if he would ever let her practice her deepthroating skills on him the way Tom had, if it’s even possible for him. She’d try, that’s for sure.

Sirius sits back down in his loveseat and crosses his legs, though it doesn’t hide the impressive bulge in his sweatpants.

Harry wants to crawl in Sirius’ lap so badly, and she tries to close her legs at the thought but she has them spread over Tom’s, who likes to sprawl in private. Tom, who she feels twitching at every little movement that she makes. She pulls her legs under her so she’s kneeling instead, dutifully holding the back of her skirt out of the way when she settles back on his clothed length.

They’re at a stalemate, because Sirius goes back to reading as if he isn’t sitting there rock hard, and glancing up sometimes to look at them, one hand holding his shaft seemingly subconsciously and the other holding the journal. Tom goes back to reading over Harry’s shoulder while she holds it in shaking hands. One hand is under her skirt playing with her wet lips, occasionally dipping in but never going further than the first knuckle.

“Tom,” Harry complains, and then moans in surprise and drops the book, because he immediately pushes in two fingers as if he was waiting for her, and she’s not ready for that, for taking their game another step further, because this— _this_ they can’t come back from.

“Ride my fingers, darling,” Tom murmurs.

Harry breathes hard as he pumps his fingers in and out of her heat, rubbing her clit with his thumb. She keens loudly because he knows how to get her close really fast, so of course he chooses to do that now. The trouble is that she can count her orgasms on exactly one hand, and has spent _hours_ on the edge without tipping over no matter what they do, to the point where they’ve decided to just wait a month between tries.

She hates him a little right then because this isn’t how she envisioned her sixth time.

“Tom, please,” she says but she desperately follows his fingers with her hips, body overriding her want to keep still, trying to get more of him, needing his fingers deeper.

“It’s okay, my little banshee, I’m sure he won’t mind seeing you make a mess,” Tom says affectionately, correctly guessing one of the issues she has with this, still not convinced that the way she has her orgasms is _normal_.

Then he lets himself fall back against the corner and that changes his angle. 

“M-my skirt,” Harry stutters, leaning forward and clutching the armrest. “Tom, no, _please_ ,” she begs at last, feels her body start to freeze, her breath nothing but a series of short gasps. Tom speeds up, his slim fingers working her hard and deep. Her legs spread as far as they can go and she holds her breath, her entire body locking up for entire seconds as she comes long and hard in his lap. 

Tom works her through it, not stopping or slowing down, prolonging it until he feels like it or until she starts shaking so much she dislodges him. Right when she’s about to come down from her high, her legs trying to close on instinct, she feels it rise again and she arches her back with a sob as the second wave crashes over her, carrying her until violent spasms taking over and it’s too much and she claws at the armrest trying to get away.

She lets herself fall forward with another sob, actively crying now, her breathing so harsh she’s dizzy, her vision blurry with tears, and Tom wipes his hand on her skirt and rubs her back in slow circles while she calms down. He leans forward, pulling her close and nosing at her ear and neck. “You’re so pretty when you come,” he whispers.

“Why don’t you ever just _listen_ to me, though,” Harry sniffs when she finally feels like she has some control over her body back apart from a spasm now and then.

“Did you _want_ me to stop?” Tom asks with an arched eyebrow.

“Well, no, but that’s not the point.” Harry wipes at her cheeks. “I _asked_.”

“And you didn’t mean it,” Tom says.

Harry chooses to ignore it, not in the mood to argue about this again, mostly because they’ve been over this before and he has a point. “I’m all sweaty now, and _everything_ is wet, Riddle, it got everywhere, shit,” she says. “My skirt is fucking ruined.” She gets up then, inspecting the damage that she did. “Oh my god, it got _everywhere_.” Tom’s trousers are wet with it, though they’re already dark so it’s hard to spot. “Did you come?”

Tom grabs her chin and kisses her. “What do you think, darling?”

Harry points at his lap. “You’re hard.”

“I’m also sixteen. Why don’t you ask Uncle Sirius if you may take a shower?” He pulls on the zipper of her skirt and she doesn’t bother trying to stop him, her sixth ever orgasm having tilted her past her shame for the moment, still giddy. Tom pulls her in for a hard kiss and her skirt drops to the floor.

It’s a little difficult to face Sirius. He’s still hard, his hand curled around the shape of him in his sweatpants as he strokes himself, his cock sadly hidden behind cloth still, while he watches her with half-lidded eyes. He bites his bottom lip as his gaze sweeps over her, from her face down to her crotch and then back up to her breasts. Feeling bold, she takes them in hand and squeezes, pushing them up and together before dropping them again.

Now _that_ is a hundred percent something they can’t come back from but at least now she has confirmation that Sirius _really_ likes what he sees, she thinks wryly. Crossing those lines has just become a lot easier.

“May I take a shower, Uncle Sirius?” she asks in a small voice.

It’s the one she knows that gets her anything she wants from him, and only now does she wonder how far that will go. Will he put his hands on her, his mouth on her, his fingers in her the way Tom had? Will he take her when she asks?

“You little—” Sirius starts, and he looks at the ceiling for a long moment, his hand not pausing at all. “Yes, go on.” He’s just lazily pumping his cock, like he’s teasing himself and has all the time in the world, and she realises that he’s not going to come in their presence, that this is the furthest he’s willing to go now.

She finds that she’s fine with the suggestion of it.

*

Next week, Thursday, is Halloween. At home they never saw a reason to celebrate it, and while it’s fun at Hogwarts, there’s no need for it there either. Instead, Tom, Harry and Luna celebrate that it was the day Mr. and Mrs. Lovegood adopted little Tom at the age of four, twelve years ago. Mrs. Lovegood never explained what drove her to do it, but Mr. Lovegood was happy enough to follow along with his wife.

Tom and Harry met when they were four, in Diagon Alley at Christmas, in front of the very jewelsmith that they would get their rings at, five years later. There was a boat parade and Harry had sat on Uncle Sirius’ broad shoulders while Tom sat on Mr. Lovegood’s, and while they weren’t the only children sitting on parental shoulders, they stood close enough that they ended up enjoying the parade together.

So Harry likes Halloween, the source of her joy. Christmas was when they met, but that never would have happened had Mrs. Lovegood not suddenly got her coat from the rack and left the house, coming back with a child. 

Harry doesn’t think she’d have met Tom otherwise, perhaps when they were both at Hogwarts, but before that? Not really. She wouldn’t be wearing her ring right now, wouldn’t have befriended him, wouldn’t have loved him so completely if not for Halloween. 

They wouldn’t be trying to tempt Sirius together.

Well, maybe Harry would have on her own, though she probably wouldn’t have had the guts to do what she’s done so far. She can’t believe he saw her like that, she doesn’t have _normal_ orgasms, she doesn’t think so at least, and he saw one, and it was—she doesn’t regret it, but she feels embarrassed that he saw how wet she made everything, leaving a giant spot on the loveseat as well, ruining her skirt and Tom’s trousers.

Harry can still see Sirius’ large hand on his sweatpants-covered cock, the way he’d slowly dragged his fingers over the shape of himself, the way he’d looked at her, as if he was contemplating getting up and coming over, the way his eyes swept over her body when she stood in front of him, near fearless in the wake of her orgasm.

Tom and Harry are still not fucking during the week. Harry’s slowly getting used to not having Tom from Saturday morning until Wednesday evening. Yesterday, on Wednesday, Sirius wasn’t in his quarters when they came in, which didn’t stop them, however, by now freely making use of his bed when Sirius is in the castle.

Without Halloween, _none_ of this would have happened.

They wouldn’t be where they are today.

*

Halloween is a half day for students and teachers alike. They spend their afternoon with friends and family in the library rather than with fellow Slytherins in the Great Hall. Before the feast, as they’ve done in the past on Halloween, they make their way to Sirius’ office. In the past they would sit and eat there, but it’s unthinkable now not to go to his living quarters, not after everything that’s already happened between them.

It’s a little odd that they’ve never seen his quarters before this year, because he’s had the same ones since he started staying the nights on his workdays years ago, staying at Hogwarts from Wednesday morning till Saturday morning, mostly so he doesn’t have to cook. Kreacher is with Regulus and he doesn’t want to get another elf.

They usually just stayed in the office, which isn’t a bad place to be either, it just doesn’t have the same amount of wards and privacy that his quarters do. To be fair, they haven’t had a need for either until this year, so that… makes sense.

They truly sit at a stalemate, however, almost taking one step back, if anything.

That evening, Harry is back in her skirt though still topless and Sirius is back in his regular attire, though no longer hiding his crotch with baggy shirts and sweaters. 

Harry sits at Tom’s feet doing her homework today, having put it off until the last moment once again. Tom merely wrinkles his nose at the state of her affairs nowadays, doesn’t bother trying to correct it anymore, long since given up on his hope of Harry going the ‘monkey see, monkey do’-route. 

Harry no longer feels as much on display anymore, comfortable wearing just her skirt and nothing else in a way that she hadn’t thought would happen when Tom first pulled off her T-shirt and threw it carelessly on the floor. She catches Sirius looking sometimes, heated glances, but he’s gone back to drawing again, sketching away in one of those expensive looking sketch-pads.

It’s peaceful, there’s no rush, no charged energy like there was last week.

It’s just them, enjoying each other’s company.

This, too, is nice. With all the excitement of recent weeks, she’d forgotten what it’d been like the past few years. It reminds her that they are more than just a sexually charged air, that the three of them work together quite well in other areas too. Companionship and understanding. There’s a reason Tom and Harry always end up staying with him during a part of their breaks. 

She considers it one of the best Halloweens she’s ever had.

*

Harry is _really_ feeling the strain of only having sex once a night when Sirius is in the castle even though she knows Tom is secretly relieved, the sole reason they even took Sirius’ challenge seriously—well, that and the chance of fucking in his bed, if she’s honest.

Despite how well they fit together when it comes to specific tastes, their bodies just work differently. Harry thinks her libido is too active to be normal and she knows exactly why, but that doesn’t make it less shameful in her opinion.

*

Of course this is bound to change, and change it does. 

They’re seated in their loveseat when Sirius enters, a wide grin on his handsome face. “I forgot to tell you, but look what I confiscated during my seventh year class,” he says and he throws a box of _something_ their way. Harry manages to catch it right before it’s about to hit the floor.

Condoms, they’re _condoms_. He confiscated a box of condoms from a bunch of horny and curious seventh years. For some reason, Harry’s not surprised. It’s easily something that could’ve happened in her year as well, thinking of herself and Ron mostly, though Hermione and Tom would shake their heads at them.

“We’ve tried them, they make everything boring,” Harry says. “I prefer my potion.” She shakes the box of condoms then opens it, and spots that there are only three left. “Someone’s been busy,” she comments lightly.

“It’s not me,” Sirius says, “I have no idea how they work.”

There’s a silence. “You’re joking,” Tom says finally.

“Nope, never had a use for them. Potions, spells. They’re so… Muggle.”

Harry sits up, tilts her head slightly. “You realise you teach _Muggle_ Studies, right? You’d think you’d at least experiment with them upon learning that they existed.”

Sirius has the grace to blush. “Yes, well.” He crosses his arms, face set in a challenge. “I’m sure you could show me if you wanted to.”

That is a mistake. 

Clearly he hasn’t got the memo yet that things have escalated to the point where Tom and Harry share a _look_ , seriously considering it. Sirius’ expression instantly turns into one of regret as he tries to take his challenge back.

“Your dad would kill me.”

“He doesn't need to know,” Harry says.

“It'll be our secret,” Tom agrees.

“You know, as the person who will be considered the predator if this comes out, I feel I should be the one saying that,” Sirius says sardonically.

Tom gives him a blinding smile and Harry says, “We won't tell if you won't tell.”

Sirius caves.

Tom just sits back in the loveseat as Harry slides to her knees in front of him. She turns to give Sirius a long look, then licks her lips as she debates on whether to say it or not. “You should come closer so you can see it better,” she suggests before she can think better of it, before she loses her nerve.

Tom unzips his trousers and Harry pulls them and his boxers down just enough to free him. They’ve practiced with condoms before, when they were curious and wanted to try them out, to see if condoms were something they liked. It mostly gave Harry a good excuse to blow Tom, because the answer ultimately was no, they did _not_ like them.

Harry’s arms come up to rest on his thighs, one hand on his exposed hip, the other pushing his uniform out of the way, landing on his stomach which quivers under her fingers. “Gotta make sure he has a good view,” she whispers to him, grinning.

Tom, on the other hand, seems nervous for some reason, as if it suddenly hits him what game they’re playing and where it’s taking them.

Her grin disappears, worried now. She rubs his thigh. “Ready?” she whispers.

Tom nods, puts the condom on his tip with one hand while he holds the base of his cock with his other. He’s only half hard, so Harry bats his hand away and instead pumps him a few times, slowly moving her hand up and down until his head falls back and his breathing hitches. His cock hardens fully under her ministrations.

Harry changes her mind, however, and ends up rolling the condom down with nimble fingers. She keeps moving her hand, adding a little twist on the upwards motion that she knows drives him crazy, but just when Tom starts to tense, Sirius grabs her wrist.

“Not quite yet,” he grunts.

“Fuck, Sirius,” Tom groans, sagging in the seat. “I was so close.”

“I asked you to show me how to put it on,” Sirius rasps. “You showed me one way, now show me another.” He holds out another condom. “There’s two left.”

Tom takes it with a trembling hand, fights the package and loses, so he hands it to Harry instead. She gets it out of the package eventually. Sharing a look with Tom, she tries to gauge whether he’s okay with this, but his erection isn’t flagging, and neither does he look nervous anymore. Deeming him ready, she leans forward to take his cockhead between her lips, making sure to keep the condom in place. 

It’s been a while since she last did this, but she decides not to think about it and let the memories guide her instead. Instead she glances up at him, catching his half-lidded eyes and then she slowly takes him further in, rolling the condom down his shaft as she does, fighting her gag reflex until her nose is pushed against his pelvis.

“Merlin,” Sirius whispers.

Tom’s hand comes up to her head, pulling her off just a tiny bit and then thrusting back in, twitching in her mouth and clearly holding back. She squeezes his hip, feels around for his other hand and puts it with the one on her head, then closes her eyes and tries to relax. Tom gets a knee under him, and Harry gags at the change in angle but recovers fast.

Harry wants to show off for Sirius, show him how good she can be, how well she can take Tom’s cock down her throat. With both hands he keeps her still while he steadily fucks her throat, the condom rolling up until it annoys the both of them. Harry taps his thigh and he lets her pull off and away, coughing. 

“Condom,” she says, “off.”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees easily, rolling it off him and throwing it to the side. “C’mon,” he says, pulling her forward again, and Harry chuckles but closes her lips around his cockhead and slowly slides down until he gets impatient and grabs her hair in a fist to hold her still. He pushes himself in with a gasp.

Finally Tom’s hands fall to his sides and one of his legs trembles. “Harry, _please_.” He’s close, she can feel it in the way his balls draw up and his cock hardens just that little bit extra, his quiet pleas that she never tells him about, but another hand roughly pulls her up just enough and just in time for Tom to come on her tongue rather than down her throat.

She swallows as much as she can, sitting back and resting against Tom’s trembling leg, wiping her mouth and her chin of any stray drops that are left. When she looks up and catches Sirius’ eyes, seated on the armrest pressed up against Tom, he makes a come-hither gesture. With a frantically beating heart she gets up and sits unceremoniously on Tom’s lap, tilting her head so she can keep looking Sirius in the eyes.

“Can I kiss you, love?” Sirius asks with a rasp in his voice.

Harry’s heart skips a beat. “Yes,” she breathes.

Sirius leans in before Harry has a chance to change her mind, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, his hands grabbing her waist and pulling her close. His tongue swipes over her bottom lip and she hesitantly meets it, the taste of Tom heavy between them. 

But hesitancy is quickly thrown out the window as she gasps into the kiss and lets herself get pulled into his lap, strong arms coming around her middle while she settles her legs around him, pulled so close to him that his cock presses between her legs. His hands slide down her back and up her chest. He cups one of her breasts, squeezes lightly before thumbing at her nipple.

Harry moans wantonly, grinding against him, and he’s everywhere at once, large hands that she has yet to get to know properly gripping her hips and holding her down. Slim, long fingers she instantly recognises settle on her shoulders, fingers splayed then curled into her neck, stroking her jawline as she chases Sirius’ tongue into his mouth instead, lips moving together ever so slowly, and Harry feels like she’s drowning, caught between the two of them.

Harry doesn’t know how they end up in his bedroom, sheets still everywhere, their leftover wet spot that they hadn’t bothered with still prominent, though that’s taken care of with a single cleaning spell. Sirius throws her on the bed, and she crawls toward the middle of it. Tom follows at a more sedate pace, calmly sits on the bed against the headboard. She throws her skirt at him, and he smiles, and she sits back on her knees.

“Wanna show me how he fucks you, love?” Sirius asks once he joins her.

It takes some rearranging, but in the end Tom and Sirius have switched, Tom positioning himself behind her, doing nothing but unzipping his trousers. She’s still open, still slightly wet from earlier, so when he enters her, she merely sighs happily as it feels good immediately. As perfect as they are for each other, sometimes she likes it this way too.

Tom is rough with her, grabbing her hips tightly, too worked up to deliver a performance rather than just fucking her. She doesn’t mind as much, because just the idea that Sirius is watching them with dark eyes fuels her until she’s trembling with it. Tom comes before she has a chance to, and this too she doesn’t mind, because as heated as she feels, she doesn’t think tonight is going to be a night where she’ll have an orgasm, not even from Sirius if he’s inclined to try.

When she looks up, her mouth waters at the sight Sirius makes, who is slowly pulling on his cock with half-lidded eyes trained on her. “Will you fuck me too?” she can’t help but ask.

Sirius glances at Tom as if asking for permission, as if Tom’s going to say _no_ to that. 

“He doesn’t mind,” she says, then, “though there’s no way all of that’ll fit in me.” Knowing he’s large and seeing it are two different things. She wants him in her.

Sirius’ smile is gorgeous, eyes crinkling. “I don’t need to be fully inside,” he assures her.

“Fuck me, then,” Harry says forcefully as Tom moves away and Sirius hesitantly takes his place between her legs.

“Like I can say no to that,” Sirius says, touching her. 

She takes a shaky breath, nervous.

“Small girl like you, love, this is going to hurt,” Sirius says.

Harry feels herself clench around nothing. “That’s okay, just... keep pushing in, no matter what I say,” she instructs him, “I can take it.” She thinks she can, at least. Sirius is a _lot_ bigger than Tom, larger even than the stupidly big dildo one of her dormmates has. “Will you?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, love,” he says as he positions himself at her entrance, his other hand on the small of her back. He slides his cock through the mess left by Tom, using it to lube himself up further and to tease himself for long moments before finding her opening and forcing his cockhead in. “Oh my god.”

Harry instantly reaches forward, slapping at his stomach with a gasp, tears already in her eyes at the immense pain between her trembling legs. She fists the sheets with a shout, her entire body tense which she knows isn’t helpful but not something she can do anything about. “ _Sirius_ ,” she pants. “No, no, take it out,” she begs when he pushes further in.

“You’re okay, love,” Sirius murmurs, staring at the point where they’re connected, one hand holding himself, the other holding her leg up.

Harry hides her face in her hands, but Tom moves them away. “Watch, darling,” he tells her, “want you to see what he’s doing.”

“But it hurts so much,” Harry sobs. “It _hurts_ , take it out.”

Sirius stills but doesn’t pull out.

“You’re fine,” Tom says shortly. “You can take it, remember?”

She can’t say she does remember, at the moment so focused on the burning ache between her legs that nothing is coming through except the need for it to go away. Vaguely she understands that this is Sirius hurting her, that he’s inside her, but the pain is so overwhelming that her brain can’t think of anything else.

Slowly her brain comes back online as the pain recedes until it’s similar to the stretch she feels from Tom, and that’s manageable. She hisses when Sirius moves again, pulling out just a little then pushing in further than he was before, slowly but surely easing his way inside, until finally he hits resistance.

When she finally looks up, he’s watching her, and suddenly she feels shy. “You can fuck me now,” she whispers, looking down at where he’s inside her. She gasps at the sight, never once imagined that something this big could fit in her, yet there is the proof. 

Sirius is in her, _Sirius_ has his _cock_ in her pussy.

He’s only half in her, but according to him that was all he needed, so she’s not worried, breathing carefully through the pain of the never ending stretch. “Wasn’t expecting—” Sirius cuts himself off with a surprised groan when he slides in just that little bit deeper so he’s pushing harshly against her cervix.

Harry flinches, legs trying to close, eyes rolled back with a loud gasp, because this is a whole different kind of hurt, but this at least is familiar and something she knows how to deal with. “Deep, too deep,” she wheezes, grabbing at the sheets.

“Stay like that,” Tom instructs.

“No, it’s too deep,” Harry moans, fresh tears running down her cheeks as she moves her hips in an effort to get away yet which only does the opposite.

Sirius fucks her carefully and slowly, pulling out nearly all the way then pushing in as deep as he can go, not dissimilar to the way Tom does it, holding still for a few seconds when he’s pressed against her cervix while she gasps and moans and cries on his cock.

“You take my cock so well, love,” Sirius grunts.

Sirius is fucking her, Harry thinks, that’s _Sirius_ she feels between her legs, who pushes in so deep she shouts, who picks up his pace and fucks her so hard she’s screaming, Tom covering her mouth with one hand while his other rubs her clit mercilessly.

Tom and Sirius are _everywhere_ , and she’s _so_ close she’s crying openly, utterly overwhelmed.

She feels like she’s floating, there and not, vaguely aware of Sirius coming with a loud groan, kissing the line of her throat, hands on her tits, her body heavy and her mind sluggish, vaguely aware of them both sidling up to her, cleaning her up and kissing her, kissing each other. She swallows and sound returns, ears popping. “Was amazing,” she mumbles against one of them.

“Cockdrunk,” Sirius says, and he sounds satisfied.

“Am not,” Harry slurs happily.

*

_2016_

_But most of all I remember how it ended._

*

_1997_

She slips through the door opening and pulls the door to the classroom closed behind her. He doesn’t notice her until she sits on his desk, shamelessly spreading her legs on top of the essays he’s grading, one foot on each side of his chair.

“Happy end of the school year, Professor Black,” she says playfully.

“Merlin, girl, anyone could walk in,” Sirius says, swearing some more when he notices her lack of knickers. His hands automatically reach for her thighs, pushing her skirt out of the way and he leans in to kiss her entrance, teasing her with his fingertips, tongue on her clit.

Her hand lands in his hair with a happy sigh. “I closed the door,” she says innocently.

He pulls off and stands, already undoing his fly. Pauses. “Did you _lock_ it?”

“Everyone’s at dinner,” she says, pulling him closer by his tie so she can kiss him. She swats his hands away from his fly and unzips him herself, pulling his already half-hard cock out. She pumps it until he’s all the way there, then positions him at her opening. “C’mon, fuck me, Professor,” she whispers.

Harry winces a little but it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, kept open with the help of some team effort between Tom and Sirius. Before long he’s all the way inside, the drag of his cock making her eyes roll back as she grabs at his arms, her legs shaking and then locking up as she nears her peak. He fucks her through it, kissing her desperately, not stopping until he himself shudders and they collapse on his desk together.

With a groan, Sirius rights himself and pulls her up and with him until she’s straddling him in his chair. He’s already softening. “I’m going to have to pretend I lost that kid’s essay, you realise that, right?” he says with a snort, glancing at the stack of essays she’d sat on. He plays with the open buttons of her uniform, fingertips reaching under her bra.

Harry kisses him as he cups her breast in a large hand. “As if you mind.”

His grin makes her heart skip a beat and he strokes a few stray hairs behind her ear. “I never mind anything you do,” he says, and her breathing hitches, can taste in his kiss all the things he’s not saying out loud, and he’s much like Tom in that way. He mouths at her neck, gently biting her skin and she throws her head back with a groan.

“Mr. Potter, wait!”

“I’m sure it’s fine, son. Sirius, why aren’t you—what the fuck?”

“Oh my god, _Dad_!”

*

_2016_

_These days are long gone and the most we can do is remember them fondly._

* * *

####  **Epilogue**

Her parents pressure him into resigning, threatening legal action and more if he doesn’t, and he goes quietly, disappearing from their lives, turning into a taboo nobody is willing to bring up. She doesn’t see him for many long years, neither of them do; in fact, Tom doesn’t even get to say goodbye.

It’s for their own good, their parents say. Harry—

With age comes understanding and with time supposedly comes healing. Yet there remains a big gap where he had wedged himself so thoroughly between them during that year, a stubborn wound neither of them gives a chance to heal, ripping it open every summer like clockwork. They get married, they get jobs, they move out but they don’t move on because they keep dragging each other back to inspect the void nobody can seem to fill. 

They work around it as they’ve always done, together forever, together apart.

Then one sunny afternoon, the doorbell rings.

_And now, Sirius, where do we go from here?_

  
  


~fin

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, you made it to the end! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a nice day. :)


End file.
